


Just a Kid

by lmc_TicDonPete



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depressed Peter Parker, Domestic Avengers, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, F/M, Human Trafficking, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapped Peter, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Drug Use, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad, Sad Peter Parker, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Traumatized Peter Parker, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-09-20 00:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 93,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmc_TicDonPete/pseuds/lmc_TicDonPete
Summary: Peter Parker was Spider-Man, an invincible superhero. He was stronger than Captain America, healed faster than Thor's lightening was able to strike and was able to stick to every surface under the sun. Peter fought criminals of mass strength and size even in his most vulnerable times.However, Peter Parker was a kid. A stupid, skinny, fragile kid. Unfortunately, that's what some sick-minded people look for when hunting. Because tonight, it wasn't a game of hero versus villain. It was predator versus prey.





	1. Party Pooper

**Author's Note:**

> Warning:  
> -Rape/Non-Con  
> -Kidnapping  
> -Non-Consensual Drug Use  
> -Underage  
> Civil War never happened, everyone is happy (yay friends) and living inside Tony's penthouse like one big family, so no heart-breaking traumas... yet. This work is from my unpublished Wattpad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker hates parties, but here he is, in the middle of a very important one. Freezing his butt off on a cold couch, sipping a watered down Coke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of my new story, 'Just a Kid'. I hope you enjoy, but be cautious as you continue as this strpy deals with serious concepts. I wanted to create a story where Peter is kidnapped, but it has nothing to do with Tony or Spider-Man, it's just a story about a child being kidnapped and brought into a knew world of horrors. This book deals with Human Trafficking and rape. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this book and feel free to comment your opinions.

Peter Parker hated parties. In fact, he despised them and a deep hatred grew in his heart in response to the event. The loud noise, obnoxious people who's heads were filled with booze and danced like wild apes on the dance floor. The music was always too loud, filled with the sounds of woozy party-goers who couldn't seem to find their inside voices. Seriously, they were screaming when the person they were talking to was only a foot or so away. Peter thought it was ridiculous.

Although, he figured that he didn't like parties too much mostly because he never got invited to any. He was only a sophomore in high school- still a little kid, and probably will never be invited to a party in his whole life. Besides, he was too young to drink anyways, and there wasn't much fun in parties. He was a terrible dancer.

So while high school parties filled his heart with dread and caused his extreme anxiety, it was Mr. Stark's charity parties that he found himself enjoying. They were far more elegant, with little to no vulgar music, a refined bar, and people who actually knew how to speak while at a gala. Of course, there was alcohol, and unfortunately for Peter, by the end of the gala most adults were drunk out of their skins, laughing like horses and grinning like cats as they got to Peter's least favorite part of the night.

The teen like to call it the 'Flirting Period'. He would describe it as the time when all the wasted men and women joined together in one big mass of smirking and horny people who usually left with one extra person then they came with.

Peter hated how uncomfortable it made him feel. Whenever Mr. Stark invited him to these Charity Galas, they left shortly after the Flirting Period started, the billionaire knew how much the kid hated that part. However, on the rare occasion that Peter was stuck alone, waiting for his guardian to come by and scoop him up so they could leave, the teen would simply look on in awe as the women and men all went to converse. It wasn't a rarity where Pete would hear the gross words that the adults would use to each other- which most likely made the other giggle or flush a brilliant shade of scarlet. Peter thought it was kind of disgusting, seeing as though he wouldn't have known what do in that kind of situation when he's older.

Flirting was  _definitely_ not his strong suit.

Peter sat now, on a cool, creme colored leather couch, his legs closed tightly as he leaned back onto the sofa. His breathing was erratic, but controlled, as he anxiously glanced around the room, the feeling of nervousness and terror flowing through him. The hairs on the teenager's arms stood straight up, static, and his eyes were wider than the sun, sparkling in the bright lights above the ball room. Little white flakes of confetti fluttered down onto his dress shoes. They were a brilliant shade of Midnight Black.

It was yet another Charity Gala that he had been attending with Tony, seeing as though the man he was now living with wanted him to socialize more, and get out of the 'Stuffy old tower', as the billionaire has said multiple times. It was anything but stuffy. Anyways, back to the older man's point. Something about social acceptance, if Peter remembered correctly. Of course, Pete didn't know what that meant at the time, but as he came to more and more parties, he soon learned that some people weren't to happy about Mr. Stark being the boy's permanent guardian.

But Peter didn't care about them. Because when Aunt May died (that fateful night when the cancer finally took control), Tony had been the shoulder that he cried on, letting every emotion out as he laid in the bed with the man- snuggled tight under the older man's chin.

So, Peter attended more balls and galas, looking like a gentle, kind young man and impressing every reporter that came his way (although Tony seemed quite fixated on having them away from the boy).

But now the kid sat alone on this- surprisingly- comfortable couch, and he noticed that if he squinted really darn hard, he could see Happy on the other side of the room, surveying it with a keen eye. He was the best security guard, Peter observed, because he never took his eyes off of Tony, Peter or Pepper, when she came, for more than a few seconds at a time. Yeah, the best.

Speaking of Happy, the man's head slowly turned to the young boy's, and around the enormous mass of publicity-seeking freaks, he saw Peter. The little ray of sun-shine in a sky of darkness and rain. The security guard smiled at the boy, who gratefully returned the expression, though they were a whole dance floor away.

Peter appreciated the distraction from the ever-growing anxiety that rose in his chest at each passing _. It was his Spidey-Sense going haywire, screaming at him to run, or do something._ Unfortunately for him, there was no way for Peter to know what exactly was causing him so much dread.

It was the party, possibly. The loud music causing his over sensitive ears to bleed and his mouth to cringe as the speakers boomed with a mix between classical to 'Pop Hits of Today', in which the adults acted like they enjoyed the songs. Peter knew that they much rather be listening to Madonna or some shit like that. But they shook their hips and tapped their shoes nonetheless. Peter could remember that one time, where nearly the whole room got into a huge Cupid Shuffle competition and the winner got bragging rights for at least a year. That was a rare, good memory of these little (huge) get together's.

Although the sound contributed to his bout of emotion, it was also a mix of the blinding lights above him, and the chilly air in the room.

It was also at this time when Peter had realized that his glass had been completely empty for more than twenty minutes now, his Cola now sitting like a brick in his stomach, weighing him down. He wanted more. The soothing drink, though a bit bubbly, did help calm his nerves a bit. As time went on, his sugar high went down and his anxiety had sprung through the roof. It was time for another glass of that sweet concoction.

His steps towards the bar were slow and strong, although his mind was screaming at him that he was doing something wrong, that  _someone_ was staring at him as though he had two heads. A party-goer must have been watching him practically make a fool out of himself just by walking a few yards to the nearest empty seat at the bar.

Nonetheless, he continued his trek, using every ounce of stamina he hadn't wasted on panicking to walk to the counter and order another drink. The teen plopped down on the bar stool, finally somewhat relaxing into the cool leather and polished wooden back. Peter smiled at the bar waitress, who had been cutely flirting with a women a few seats down from him.

Nancy Gonzalos was the business women's name. She was a reporter for a gazette in New Jersey, and the boy had met her multiple times, as she frequently attended of the parties. Unlike most reporters and journalists, Tony seemed to really like her, stating that they had been friends in high school way back when. Nancy seemed nice enough, although she was a total flirt- pouncing on any women she saw like a cougar, leaving the party and hour later with a women on one arm, a man on the other. But all in all, she was a kind young lady.

Nancy smiled at Pete, and excused herself from the bar, much to the waitresses dismay. Peter couldn't help but giggle softly as the barmaid groaned, leaning back to examine the row of customers, trying to find a somewhat sober person to serve. Four glasses of alcohol was the maximum, and Peter swore he saw a sign that said that at the bar across the room. Three bars in all. At least twenty people at each- Peter was lucky he found an empty spot.

The lady finally made her way over to the teen, grinning like a bob cat as she hand polished a glass in her hand- a scene right from a movie. Her words were even more cliche.

"What can I get ya'?" She had a thick Brooklyn accent, and strong muscles bound to her, tattoos running up and down her muscular arms, a nose ring hanging from both nostrils. A badass, if Peter said so himself. The young boy smiled back, handing her his glass and politely asking for a refill of coke. The waitress chuckled, Peter blushed.

As time went by, the teen found himself on his third glass of coke, nearly empty at his place, while people bustled behind and around him, some yelling their orders when they couldn't find a place to sit.

This place is a mad house, he thinks, cringing as a man's hot breath behind him reeked of rum... or Brandy, Peter truly had no clue. But it was always disgusting to sniff the breath that spread the rough the air, reeking havoc on innocent bystanders. It really was a shame.

However, it wasn't long before Peter felt a small tap on his shoulder, in which he spun around so fast he nearly fell over, only to calm himself when he saw that it was only Mr. Stark, smiling at him with concern in his eyes.

"Hey kiddo, just wanted to check up on you," Tony shifts his face to the glasses of empty soda and smirks, giggling (a manly giggle of course) at the boy's attempt at getting drunk on caffeine. "Seems you're doing fine, huh bud?" Peter smiles, nodding firmly as his guardian placed a firm hand on his shoulder and gave a little shake. "Alrighty then, we'll leave in ten minutes or so, yeah? Movie night tonight, Harry Potter marathon and Ben and Jerry's, right?"

"Half Baked, don't forget!" Peter jumped at the idea of ice creams late at night, restating his all time favorite flavor, although he knew Tony could never forget it. It was the billionaires favorite too.

Tony grinned, patting his kid's back. "Gotcha kid, see you in a few. Gotta go say bye to all these assholes."

Peter didn't get to answer before the man walked off, waltzing up to a man with open arms, exaggerating his enthusiasm (when there was none to begin with). The genius teen couldn't suppress a small chuckle from escaping his lips as he watched his... father, walk off to more and more greedy reporters and businessmen/women. It was odd, how Tony's charm, charisma and social life hadn't rubbed off on Peter after living with the guy for over a year. He was still the old anti-social, awkward kid that would stand around and stutter. Blubbering like a fool.

Nonetheless, Peter put those nasty thoughts of   
self-doubt away and turned back around in his chair, ready to order yet another glass of soda. Maybe he'd get Sprite, or Fanta this time, he was feeling quite adventurous this evening. The kid awkwardly raised his pointer finger towards the sky, effectively grabbing the barmaids attention, however she seemed more annoyed now, having to get the same kid another drink. She came over anyways, taking his order of- as stated previously, he was feeling a little crazy tonight- a Shirley Temple. Damn those were good.

Almost as good as that one drink Peter always got at the Thai place down the road from his old apartment. Those were so good too, he could drink those-

"Hey, kid. Mind if I sit here?" A voice, gravely but warm, came from the seat to the side of him, where Peter hadn't noticed that was newly open. It was a man, not too tall in height, and not to buff or skinny- right in the middle. He was around middle aged (Peter supposed), with a neatly trimmed beard that wasn't long enough to come a millimeter off the skin. His hair was swooped over into a perfect curl, a dark brown hue to it, thought for the most part, it was a deep blonde. The man had wonderful colored hazel eyes, with long eyelashes and a manly, musky smell to him. Cologne, definitely cologne. Though all in all, he looked like your average guy.

Peter hadn't minded if the man- he would dub him, Mr. Perfection- sat next to him, seeing as though in less than five minutes, he'd be leaving to go back home. And when he did, he'd be greeted with nice cold ice cream, warm blankets and a movie marathon. Nothing beat that.

"U-uhm... no, n-no I don't mind-, ahem, I don't mind," Gosh, why did he have to be so awkward? It was just a man, he reminded himself internally. Just another human, who was probably just as awkward as he was when he was younger. Everyone was, Peter thought grimly, thought it offered him reassurance. Mr. Perfection glanced his way, smiling a row of pearly white teeth, though his bottom row looked as if he may have needed braces when he was younger. Still, he was the definition of perfection.

Mr. Perfection smiled, calling the waitress over to order a drink, a Peter payed no attention to him after that.

Until he felt a weight at the back of his chair. The boy shifted around, swiftly turning his head to get a better look at the arm that linked around the chair's back rest, the fingers delicately brushing against Peter shoulder. Mr. Perfection grinned at him, scooting his chair over a bit more to be in closer proximity to the kid, moving his arms so it now linked around Peter shoulder's not the stool.

Although the sudden change in closeness and wolffish grin set Peter into another bout of anxiety, he kept up a strong facade, keeping in mind not to offend the man.

The last thing he wanted to do was cause the man grief by denying him the right to talk to him, or touch in a friendly manner. Besides, it was only a  _small,_ nagging voice in his head that told him the touch maybe wasn't so friendly. But he brushed it aside, making sure that he in no way would offend  
Mr. Perfection. After all, who was he to tell people what to do. He was only a kid, and the man beside him could have been his dad, he was so old.

The last thing he wanted to do was cause the man grief by denying him the right to talk to him, or touch in a friendly manner. Besides, it was only a  _small,_ nagging voice in his head that told him the touch maybe wasn't so friendly. But he brushed it aside, making sure that he in no way would offend  
Mr. Perfection. After all, who was he to tell people what to do. He was only a kid, and the man beside him could have been his dad, he was so old.

So Peter stayed quiet, offering a tight, nervous smile that made Mr. Perfection's grow three times in size. It was now a split-faced grin. The teen kept his distance, although the man did try to close it, he soon observed that Peter would allow him to stay- but not to close. Peter was smart. But not smart enough.

"My names Patrick. I work for the State of New Jersey Research and Engineering center, if you were wondering," Patrick leaned forward in his chair, grabbing his drink and proceeding to take a long, slow drag of it. Waiting. For what, Peter didn't know. "Anyways, what's your name kid? I haven't seen anyome your age at any of these party's before. Must suck, being a teen and not out partying with your own friends." He chuckled, tightening his hold one Peter shoulder.

"Oh, uhm, y-yeah. My names Peter, I'm, uh, Tony Stark's s-son," Peter hesitated on the last part, only realizing then that maybe it was a bad idea to tell people, although the whole world practically knew at this point. It had been a full year since he was adopted. The boy turned back to his own drink, reaching over to take a short sip of it. It's losing its taste, he observed, it's more water than Cola.

The older man whistled. "Damn, that's a pretty good position you're in, huh? Tony fucking Starks son, must be pretty sweet," Patrick laughs again, and this time, his hand pulls away from Peter shoulders and back into his own lap. The teen can't help but let out a long, slow sigh of relief. It was starting to get uncomfortable. "Hey, isn't that your dad over there?" Patrick points over to a group of men, dressed up nicely in suits and ties, wearing expensive dress shoes. They were laughing, while Tony talked on and on, gripping a glass in his hand tight. While Peter stared on to his dad, he noticed the way that Tony seemed to always keep up a conversation, never letting it get awkward or uncomfortable. The exact opposite of Peter.

Instead of dreading over his lack of social skills, the boy turned back around, only to find a full glass of coke in front of him, bubbling still. That was... odd.

 _'Wasn't it just empty a minute ago?'_ Peter questioned silently, raising an eyebrow at the soda, wondering where it had come from, if he never asked for a refill. And hadn't he just changed his order? He wasn't even going to order another round of pop, he would have gone for water. And the waitress never came in front of him to ask or grab his cup. So where did this-

"Hope you don't mind, I ordered you another drink. On my own tab, don't worry, daddy dearest won't get angry," He just kept laughing at the end of his sentences, Peter was starting to think he was just really egotistical.

Nonetheless, Peter laughed along, letting a few uneasy chuckles out. He cleared his throat, parched and thirsty from the amount of anxiety building within himself. The teen glanced down at his full glass and reached a hand out, scooping it up.

And he took a long sip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment, save or kudos if you enjoyed and continue to the next chapter!
> 
> Lots of love-lmc


	2. A Spoon Full of Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something wasn't right with the person Peter dubbed perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know the warnings in general, but for this chapter in particular...  
> -Drugging  
> -Kidnapping

This guy was  _really_ funny. Like, so funny that Peter had almost fallen out of his chair laughing with such a high pitched giggle, other occupants of the bar were starting to stare. Patrick didn't seem to mind, as he too seemed to be laughing his butt off, showing off his pearly white teeth. Peter couldn't help but admire how crystal white they actually were, sparkling in the fluorescent light fixtures.

"You won't believe what happens next!" Patrick continues, hair flopping in front of his eyes, though he quickly made work in putting it back in place. Unlike his position before, Mr. Perfection moved his arm so it was once again suffocating Peter's shoulders, effectively holding him in place.

Peter giggled absentmindedly. Something was wrong, but the thought of that never crossed his mind.

However, just before the older man could carry on with his hilarious and seemingly intriguing story, the smaller boy felt a pang in his stomach. It was only a few seconds later before the teen felt vomit rise in his throat, and it took all his strength to swallow it back down. And only a mere minute later did his vision start to sway, unnatural colors spotting his vision. He attempted to block away the blinding lights, and it seemed to be helping, if only a little, to help ease the his troubled vision.

It wasn't just his vision that was going hay- wire, his mind was swimming and his limbs felt numb. The tips of his fingers felt like sparklers, buzzing and feeling as though they were vibrating. Despite the fact that he felt as if his whole body was drowning in a pit of tar, and his brain was being ripped to little pieces, he continued his conversation with the oh so perfect, Patrick, who had been watching his with a keen eye, taking in every move.

Every tremble that shook his body. Every flick of an eyeball. Every moment of tension, when his shoulders would cramp and Peter would sit unmoving.

"Well... never mind my story, you seem to be a little unfocused, hmm?" And for a brief moment, Peter saw true concern flash in the older man's eyes, a look that a father would give his son or daughter: loving and comforting. But the way his hazel eyes stared at him with the same one Tony used the day of the ferry accident. A type of, "I'm disappointed in you because you could have hurt yourself," type of look. There was a demeaning glare among the look, judging him silently. Patrick thought he was stupid, but Peter couldn't understand why.

He couldn't understand anything at the moment.

So he just smiled and laughed.

Where was he again? Peter racked his brain for answers, but the only evidence of where he was located was the name 'Tony', a person in which the teen was having a hard time remembering who he was. The name was familiar, nostalgic, but couldn't seem to ring any bells in the disoriented boy's mind. And he barely noticed when Mr. Perfection started speaking again.

"You okay, Pete? You're acting a little funny," the man started, and his arm wrapped around Peter's shoulders, effectively holding him up, and keeping the boy from falling on the ground. Peter was thankful for the warm hands providing the extra support, but something still wasn't right with the sheer power behind those hands. Rough and uninviting, yet warm with potential to be comforting. He hated it. "Why don't you drink something? It might make you feel better."

The young teen found the strength to reach his arm to the counter and take another sip of his drink, only for the slippery, condensation rimmed glass to fall from his hands as another wave of nausea overtook him, and his eyes rolled around within his head. His vision blurred, and his eyes rung, and he felt that at any moment his dinner would come spewing from his mouth.

This time... the words he heard sounded like sirens burning his ear drums to dust.

"Woah! Oh, come on, bud, that wasn't very smart! Let's get you to the bathroom and clean up, yeah?"

_Nononononononono._

Peter didn't want to go the bathroom right now. He wanted to figure out where Tony (whoever he was) and get out of this place. The bright lights hurt his eyes and burned his retinas. And the music was blasted straight into his ear. He just wanted to go home.

Plus, he didn't even need to pee. So why go to the bathroom?

"To clean yourself up, silly."

Oh, has he said that out loud? If so, he hadn't meant to... or maybe Patrick could read people's minds! Peter nearly choked at the thought. Maybe he was friends with a physic! Were they even friends though? They had only been taking for a few minutes, so maybe they weren't even close to friends.

"Oh, I'd say we're friends, Petey."

There he goes again! He must've been reading Peter's mind, there was no other solution! Whoa... he had a psychic friend! This had to be the coolest day of Peter's fifteen years of living. First he gets dragged to a super expensive and amazing party (even if he didn't like the people) and then, he makes a super cool friend who already cares about it, and they only met like twenty minutes ago.

Wait, didn't Tony say he'd pick him up in ten?

Before Peter could dwell on anything his father had said or didn't say, two hands pushed themselves under his armpits, picking him up and plopping him down like he was nothing but a doll. That was when the world started spinning around, the floor felt like it was caving in and the air suddenly felt like it had dropped ten degrees. The porcelain floors felt scorching, and the lights above were little suns, while the man in front of him looked like a hollowed silhouette. He felt like he was dying.

Despite this feeling, and the keening whimper Peter produces in response to the roaring pain in his stomach and head, Patrick insisted that they continue walking, even lifting Peter up for a few steps to make the poor child move faster. This only added to the young boy's nausea. Nonetheless, Mr. Perfection  _forced_ the boy-genius to move across the dance floor, occasionally glancing around for something. Something Peter didn't know about.

"Just a little bit further, kiddo, I promise. You'll be feeling better in no time!" Peter felt to ill to even consider the sentences that escaped Patrick's mouth. In fact, his head was drowning in a pit of tar, and barely any sound was even being filtered through his ears. This was the exact opposite of every other day, where his enhanced senses made it unbearable to even listen to the school beep ring after each class. Something was definitely not right, and Peter didn't have to be healthy to see that.

"I-I... I wanna go home sir~r..." Peter's words slurred, almost impossible to get out, as lips couldn't move much. It was as if they were slowly being sewn shut, and soon, he wouldn't even be able to breathe anymore. His nose was stuffed because of his failed attempts to hold back tears, and his mouth was carefully being sewn shut. He'd die.

Despite thinking this, his mouth didn't close all the way, and a little part in Peter's lips let him suck in the sweet air. He didn't register what Patrick said next, but something inside him told him it was definitely not good.

"You'll be home soon enough, Pete... it'll just take awhile for you to get adjusted." And with that, the whole world frozen and all noise was completely blocked out. Peter couldn't feel anything but the rough hands dragging him along, and the painful way the man's words bounced through his head. Out of the corner of his eye, the young teen could barely make out the familiar face of Tony, babbling on to another business owner while Pepper stood beside him, contributing to the conversation every once in awhile. Happy stood on the other side of the room, unable to see the boy being manhandled across the floor.

_Please, please, please, please, look at me! Turn around! Turn around! Please!_

He begged in his head, but he still wasn't sure if he should have been. This man hasn't done much wrong, and was only trying to help him. But while the kind and generous part of Peter was holding onto the slight hope that this man was genuine in his intentions, his spider-sense has other ideas. Ones that involved them never reaching the bathroom.

Happy was looking  around the room now, and for a moment, Peter thought him and the security guard caught each other's eyes. However, it must have been only a dream, because not only a moment later, Happy's eyes moved on, and didn't look back to Peter's. It isn't long before Happy's body is completely hidden from view, completely covered by hordes of finely-dressed people, oblivious to what was happening.

Of course, there were a few bystanders who let their questioning stares bore themselves into Peter's eyes, but they didn't hold, and by the time the young boy passed them, they had drifted to something else. For once, Peter was desperately hoping someone would notice him, or all the attention would be on him.

Because for a moment, his drugged mind was telling him that this man wasn't trying to help him.

Peter wanted to scream- was seriously considering it.

So he did.

It was loud and obnoxious, watery and it made his throat feel as if it was ripping apart. Spit flew, and in his swirling eyesight, he could see the mass of people staring at him, some with worry, others in confusion. His teeth bared and tongue nearly falling from his mouth, he continued screaming, not noticing the awfully angry face on Patrick. Well, both angry and concerned, for what, Peter wouldn't know.

While the ballroom was in almost complete silence, he did hear one thing among the murders. Tony.

"Peter?! Kid, are you okay?" He could see his father's body sprinting through the crowd with Pepper hot on his trail. Happy was somewhere, telling the other security guards to lock up the place. Patrick went running. Sprinting long and hard to the nearest exit, which hasn't been completely closed off by security guards yet. Peter would be glad the man was gone...

If the older man hadn't been dragging him the whole time.

It wasn't long before Peter felt fresh air waft against his face, and the stench of gas and trash filled his nose. Still woozy from-... well, he still didn't know why he was feeling so sick all of the sudden. But whatever it was, he was still feeling the effects, and they were hitting harder and harder as time went by. Peter thought that with his enhanced metabolism, whatever sickness had overcome him would quickly go away, but it was the exact opposite.

The young boy attempted to wipe a hand against his face, as his head was starting ache, and he needed relief. Unfortunately, his hand never got two inches off the ground before it fell down and stayed, unable to move. The same with the other arm, he had checked right after his fatal attempt.

He was only slightly being choked by his shirt's collar, despite the man griping the back so hard, the front came all the way up to his throat.

Sweat was continuously spilling over into his eyes, burning them with the salty liquid, as well as something Peter thought might be tears.  This whole experience had been absolutely terrifying... at least it would be, if the young genius could remember it. For the life of him, Peter could  _not_ remember how he had gotten outside, why this man, who he remembered to be Patrick, was dragging him with quicken steps. He did vaguely remember something about Tony, mostly his adoptive fathers voice, it was rushed and nervous, but Peter still didn't know why. In the distance, Peter saw the building that held the ballroom, and remembered he had been there before. But... he still couldn't remember why he was being hauled off, or anything from the past thirty minutes.

"Wh-... where are we-hic-we goin'?" The boy hiccuped, stumbling over his sentence, as his mouth was extremely numb and would barely open. His teeth were aching and his tongue felt heaving in his mouth, not able to stay up long enough for him to make complete sentences. This is scary, he decided.

"Uhm... w-we're just gonna go back to my house, yeah?" Patrick sounded nervous, Peter noticed, and rushed. The man licked his lips a few times, eyes watering slightly as he muttered to himself. "You didn't look so good, so I thought I'd let you, uh, rest at my place."

Oh, well that was very kind of him.

Peter almost smiled, this man was very nice to be taking care of him in his time of need. And even though his hands weren't as gentle as Tony's, Peter still found himself leaning his wrists into the rough exterior and pads of his hands. However, it didn't seem fair that the older man had to carry all of Peter's weight by himself. If he could, Peter would have just waked with the man to save him the trouble.

A grunt of satisfaction was heard above him, and when Peter looked up into the piercing eyes of   
Mr. Perfection, he noticed the black car in front of them. It was small, low to the ground, but not cheap. It was just an ordinary car Peter would see driving, apart from the small vacant space on the side, where some of the paint had been chipped off.

"Alright, bud, lets get you in, okay?" Before the younger boy could answer, he was being man handled into the back seat, where, beside him, sat at least a dozen listened plates, all different numbers and letters. Hm, that was a little odd.

"What-"

"Hey, you need to be quiet, okay? Thanks, once we get back to the house you can talk, but for now," and in a split second, a bandanna, blue and white, was being tied around his head and through his mouth, effectively shutting him up. I would have just listened, Peter thought to himself, but didn't feel like trying to tell Patrick how he was feeling. He was too tired.

Peter felt and heard the car door close quietly, as Patrick made his way to the front and started the car. The engine hummed and cackled, and no more then a second later, they were moving. The younger boy was laying sideways in the back, horizontal on the seats, and the seatbelt poking him painfully into his side, yet he couldn't move away. His eyes stare vacant ahead, his mind blank, and eyes that once held such light and intelligence were stripped of everything. This left his beautiful chocolate eyes dark and unclear.

Patrick didn't seem to notice, and Peter was to busy trying not to fall asleep to feel anything at all.  
———————————————————————————

Tony didn't know if he was furious, or terrified.

Maybe a mix of both, he decided. One, he was furious at his security team, who's only job was to protect the guests at the gala, mostly because he was freaking IronMan, and didn't believe it was that hard to keep murderous freaks out of his party (though the main reason was to make sure Peter wasn't constantly harassed by the party-goers, who had no qualms about having more than one drink). Two, he was angry at whoever the hell had his hands on Peter. Whatever jerkwad thought it was a brilliant idea to put his filthy, ugly, revolting, nasty-

"Tony," Oh, that beautiful voice. Pepper stood just beside the man, a hand on his shoulder, rubbing softly, as she could sense the tension. She too was feeling quite frustrated (and scared), at what had just occurred. Stark had planned to run out after Peter, wanting nothing more than to get his child back and safe in his arms. However, the mass of people only got in his way, and no matter how much screaming and pushing he did, by the time he reached the exit, his security team rendered Peter missing. He begged- pleaded- to go after the boy, take the IronMan suit and fly around the city millions of times just to find his boy, but Pepper would allow it. "It's okay, we'll find him. He's a strong kid, okay? Nothing stops him, and if he can't escape, we'll be there to find him. I promise."

She agreed to searching, as she loved the boy almost as much as Tony, however, the sparky woman thought it would be close to impossible to find Peter now, almost thirty minutes after his initial kidnapping, as the man had most likely driven away with the boy.

Pepper wasn't about to allow her boyfriend to run himself ragged.

They'd go to SHIELD, and have the team there construct an investigation to find the missing boy. However, Tony has no qualms about waiting.

They had been driven home by Happy, who Tony was nothing but angry at for not watching Peter (although he did promise to be back in ten minutes, which was a lie). Unlike any other time they drove through the city, the beautiful lights were only blinding, the seats were an unforgiving cold, and radio was no longer a source of entertainment.while Tony didn't know who the man was or what his intentions were, a sickening feeling in his gut told him to find his son, and  _quick._

Because no one messed with Tony Stark's stuff.

So it only made sense that they be punished for taking his son.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They guys, hope you enjoyed. How’re you guys doing? Hope you’re all good! I’m okay, schools a little stressful though <3 -lmc


	3. Traffic Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter didn't think this would happen. Could ever happen to someone like him. It was something of nightmares, something so incredibly atrocious to even begin to think about. But then again, here he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> Pedophilia  
> Human Trafficing
> 
> Deals with serious topics, it’s at this point I warn readers that real dark shit is discussed and I do not recommend reading if you are easily disgusted or decide you don’t want to read such content. I’ll miss you reading, but I respect your choice to not read further.
> 
> If you continue, however, please enjoy.

It didn't take long for Peter to notice he was in a cage. With his hands duck taped around his back, and his ankles clamped shut with a thick rope, the only thing Peter had access to, was his sight. And although his mouth was still gagged, it didn't stop him from releasing moans and whimpers of pain, as his current position wasn't the most comfortable.

He lay in a fettle position, his face facing to the floor, with his legs tucked under his chest, his back crushed at the top of the cage. It was small, too small, so small that Peter couldn't move even if he wanted. And it was cold, so, so, so cold, as he was only wearing a pair of black, skintight boxers and a white tank top, which provided no warmth whatsoever. The cage wasn't like any dog cage Peter had ever seen, though it looked more like a trap for small, wild animals, as the bars were closer together and in a plaid pattern.

Peter would try to look around the room he was in, however the thin, grey blanket over the cage made it impossible to see. It reminded him of a bird. Peter had seen while watching Animal Planet with Vision and Bruce (the only two willing too), that some pet owners put a blanket over the birds cage to keep them quiet while they slept. It was an uncanny similarity.

There was no other noise other than the slow pants of the boy's breathing, and a low drip, drip, drip of what Peter though was a nearby faucet of some sort. Even through the blanket, the young spider-ling could still sense the muggy, wetness in the air.

He noticed how the clothes he was wearing definitely weren't his own, as the boxers were two tight, gnawing at his skin and nearly tearing flesh, and the tank top was filthy! Caked with mud, grass stains, and something Peter hoped not to be feces of some sort. However, by the way it smelled, all hope was flushed down the toilet. Ironically.

Peter groaned, attempting to arch his aching back, or stretch his legs just a little, maybe find a more comfortable position, however it was impossible, as his legs mushed into the side of the cage, un-moving, and his back hit the roof. His bum was completely backed up until it was so squished it hurt. His head was being stabbed by the metal bars as his hair flicked its way through the little square windows.

It was so incredibly uncomfortable, and painful, Peter dreaded spending anymore time in such a tight space. After the whole 'Vulture Incident', such tight spaces scared the living day lights out of him, the events of that night still fresh and traumatizing in his young head.

Peter tried to ignore the immense feeling of cement against his skin and blood dripping from his invisible wounds, to ground himself. He wasn't under a gigantic pile of rock and cement! He was just stuck in a cage, gagged and tied, with no view of the outside world. Like an animal.

That didn't sound any better.

It was at this time Peter thought he should have paid more attention to his drink at the party, as there was obviously something in it that made him sick the night before (except he didn't know if it was still that night, or the next day), and forget nearly half the night. However, as his mind slowly woke up from unconsciousness, he remembered.

He remembered the noise. The people. The man that wouldn't leave him alone. Tony l-lying to him, but trying to save him. His scream and his stupidity, as he willingly went with this man, who he remembered as Patrick.

Mister Perfection.

But as he soon realized, this man was anything but perfect. In fact, he seemed almost sick, a cruel minded and manipulative man. He was smart, but reckless and nervous, but he definitely knew what he was doing.

Peter groaned lowly, the uncomfortable spot finally getting to his limbs and joints. His head was beginning to pound and bruises were already forming due to his body being forced up against the bars of the cage. However, something odd occurred to Peter as he attempted to wiggle his feet around.

His legs were in unbearable pain, and he hadn't noticed until just now.

Whether it be the after-effects of the drugs, or his mind wandering to different subjects other than his physical health, the boy wouldn't know. But now, the pain that coursed through his legs wasn't normal bruising or cuts. It was disturbing, piercing pain that stabbed through his entire length of his legs, which were currently being crushed by his torso. It took another minute for Peter to recognize that his legs were, in fact, broken and mis-shaped.

Peter would have rubbed his tear filled eyes at such a sight, if his ability toove his hands wasn’t also compromised, each finger bent and broken in zig-zagged position, as well as being taped together behind his back, to weak to easily break the sticky substance. And even if they healed due to his quick healing powers, the poor bones would only fuse together in messed up shapes and patterns, rendering them useless.

His right legged curved violently to the left, from what he could see from his crushed point of vision. And his left seemed to bend in a backwards motion, his foot facing the wrong way. His bones weren't breaking skin or sticking out, but the overall weight of his body over the shattered bones was fiery and red-hot. It was almost as painful as getting shot in the chest. Peter would know. Patrol wasn't all fun and games.

Peter wished he could be on patrol right now. The feeling of being free and able to go where you want and do what you please (within reason) was completely different then his time in this cage. The cage was conforming, constricting him in a way that reminded him of his near drowning experience on the night of Toomes. It was terrifying, almost disgustingly tight. The cage however, was different from the water. The cage had no way of exit for him, as his arms and legs were useless, and the lock on the cage had an opening for a key, which he didn't have.

And it's not like he could look for a key, the blanket over the cage kept it almost pitch black, and the outside world was completely cut off. The gag in his mouth stayed tight as ever, putting pressure on his cheeks, which hurt to a degree. Then again, his whole body felt like it was on fire, aching and burning as his broken bones tried to fuse together and fix themselves, however, the end result was far from fixed.

He wanted to sleep. Even though he had just woken up, a feeling of exhaust washed over him. Whether it be from the immense pain he was in, or the drugs somehow still coursing through his system, he wouldn't know. However, he knew that if he truly wanted to escape and get to the bottom of this crazy night, he would need to say awake and vigilante, waiting for his captor to rear his ugly mug.

...

As it turns out, Patrick has no qualms about making Peter wait. It felt as though hours upon hours had passed, nothing had changed, no one had come in and no one had left. It was still deathly silent (apart from the annoying drip, drip, drip of water). He still didn't know what type of faucet the water was coming from.

It could have been anything ranging from a sink to a bath. Yeah, he'd focus on that. The water was at a constant dribble. Approximately, one, two, three, seconds in between each little drip of water. Which means the water may not be completely turned off, or it was just a leaky pipe possibly. He wondered it it was a metal pipe or a PVC pipe. Tony has a lot of those, said they help hold up his projects when he runs out of space on the lab tables and shelves. They were his favorite cause they were easy to saw in half. Tony was smart. If Tony was here, he'd be able to escape within five minutes.

Peter wasn’t as smart as Tony. In fact, he should be considered stupid next to the older man despite how many A's he has on his report card.

Suddenly, as if heaven had answered Peter's inpatient prayers, the young boy heard a wooden door open and slam shut with little force. Judging by the pattern of the footsteps, and the uncertainty as they got closer to the cage, Peter could only guess it was Patrick, nervous as ever, coming towards him. And while Peter still saw the older man as an anxious and unsure guy, his heart couldn't help but speed up as Patrick approached. For a moment, his palms felt sweat soaked and clammy, his lungs somehow forgetting how to breathe correctly after a few quick breathes.

Anxiety built up inside of him, burning his lungs and setting his brain on fire as his heart beat out of his clothed chest. For a moment, there was only silence, not a single sound rang in the room, and for a split second, Peter thought Patrick had (hopefully) left.

Unfortunately, no more than a second later, Peter was being blinded by a bright, white light. Another sudden wave of cold surrounded him as the blanket was lifted, and the sudden shift from darkness to light settled in Peter's overly sensitive eyes, he saw the outline of the older man.

The young boy squinted his eyes, attempting to ease the pain away from being exposed to light so quickly. Unfortunately, Patrick didn't move- what Peter thought to be his flashlight on his phone- away, which forced the boy to turn his head away, facing towards the bottom of the filthy cage once again.

There was a rattle, and Peter's head sprung up, eyes wide and doe-like as long nimble fingers worked a key into the lock. The older man glanced towards Peter, and the younger boy froze. They were piercing. Peter was scared often, to many times than he'd wish to admit, but staring into those eyes turned Peter's fear from manageable to unbearable. Patrick's face held no emotion as he open the small door to the cage, probably thinking how the hell he was supposed to get the kid out from such a small opening. Peter figured that if Patrick could somehow get him in, the man would be able to get him out.

Needless to say, getting out was just as painful as realizing his escape was impossible. The boy could count at least twenty new cuts on his armsand thighs from being forcefully pulled out, the sharp and ragged edges of the cage nagging at his porcelain skin. There was no doubt in Pete’s mind that even more scars littered his torso, as the shirt he was wearing was too thin to provide any protection from the sharp edges on the cage opening.

Can this get anymore worse? Peter thought to himself, but he didn't even know the half of it. It did occur to him that he was at this man's complete mercy to do whatever the hell he wanted of Peter, and the kid could do next to nothing about it. He considered screaming, but the bandana running through his mouth made it nearly impossible. And, if he was in the basement like he suspected, no one from the outside would be able to hear him. With that in mind, Peter still considered fighting.

Tony would want him to fight. He would want his son to do whatever in his power to stay away from his captor and go back home. Peter was going to do just that. Once he figured out how to walk with two (possibly) permanent broken legs, open doors with broken fingers, and find his way back home when the after-effects of the drugs were still coursing through him, he would.

For now, he'd stick to the simple stuff.

"Oh, woah, they still hurt a bunch. Yeah, I bet," Peter just wanted him to  _shut up,_ because his awfully cunning voice was really starting to get Peter angry. Not only was the man purposely squeezing the more tender and sensitive part of his body at the time, he was talking like Peter was five! He was six- fucking- teen and didn't need to be treated like a baby. Even by his kidnapper.

However, Peter knew it wouldn't be long before his legs and fingers would (maybe?) realign and fix themselves. Though he seriously doubted it, as he was still weak and hadn't eaten anything since the party, and wouldn't heal. He also remembered the compact space he would be spending his time in, and knew the cage wouldn't allow much movement, especially bones moving themselves around.

Oh.  _Oh._

Peter didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. The hand that was laying peacefully, if a bit hard, on his thigh, was moving. Well, the thumb was- back and forth in what would be considered comforting, it wasn't coming from his douche bag.

"Ge-ff ma." Peter mumbled through his gag, and although he knew almost immediately the man wouldn't listen, he was surprised when he heard the man answer back, and actually understand him.

"It's ok, Peter, I promise I won't hurt you," While he wasn't facing Patrick, Peter could hear the man sigh, his thumb halting for a moment, before lightly patting the boy's leg, gliding down his his calf instead. "I'm-... I don't want to do this, Pete, you gotta believe me!" The hand was removed and Peter let out a small, internal sigh of relief. The boy took a moment to register what he had said, soon becoming confused. "I wasn't planning on doing anything to anyone last night, I swear! But... I was late and I-I don't want to die Peter. I'm sorry I did this to you."

Peter huffed, still not completely understanding what Patrick meant. The man had kidnapped him-  _kidnapped._ How could he not mean too?! If he felt so bad why wouldn't he let Peter go home?! None of this made sense, and for once, Peter's level mind was starting to boil over.

The gag was removed no more than a second later and Peter spit at the man.

"Get away from me! Let me go! I want to go home!" He yelled, clearly upset and confused. Most of all, he was scared. Scared for his life, his safety, his family's safety. They were all at risk for whatever his asshole was planning. It didn't make sense as to why Patrick was sorry. He had literally stuck Peter into a cage after stealing him from a gala, in front of his own father. There was no forgiving that.

"Shh, shh, you will one day I promise you will. Just-, for now you can't," Patrick explained, biting his nails nervously as his other hand came to rest of Peter's shoulder in comfort. The boy threw him off in rage, however the movement went pain through his hands and fingers.

Peter wasn't angry anymore. He was just fed up, and scared and anxious. Home was his only safety at this point, and by the looks of it, he wasn't going home for a long time.

"Why'd you break my legs a-and arms? They h-h-hurt." Peter whined, a whimper rising in his aching throat as the tears that had gathered in his eyes previously spilled over his rosey cheeks and onto the cold, cement ground. He wanted his dad.

"I was told too, bud. I'm really sorry about all this, I shouldn't have dragged you in. But I need this money, and if I don't hand you over soon, my family's at risk," So, Peter wasn't staying with Patrick for the rest of forever? He was being handed over, as the man put it, to someone else. He really wouldn't see his family again.

_Nonononononono._

That was unacceptable. He'd get out and find his home, and when he did, he'd tell Tony what happened and Patrick would go to jail forever. Then the two would live happily ever after. Perfect.

Almost as perfect as Peter thought Mister Perfection was.

"W-where am I-I going? Wh-What are you gonna d-do to me?"

"I told you, kid. I won't do anything, I'm just the postal service, per say. I get you, and sell you to whoever's willing to pay," Human trafficking, in a way, Peter realized, and it was like his life had just crumbled into a million little pieces. He-he would be sold (like an object) to someone, and the cycle would continue until everyone got bored of him and he'd be thrown out, or killed. The tears only rushed harder.

"I-I want to go h-home, S-S-Sir. I-I'll do anything-  _anything!_ Just let m-me go." For a moment, Peter saw Patrick consider it, tears welling in the older man's eyes as he gulped down a wad of saliva. Peter could see the regret in his eyes, the realization of what he had done. "Please."

"I c-can't. I'm sorry but I can't. He-he'll be here tomorrow to pick you up and I-I won't see you ever again," Patrick gulped fresh air, on the verge of breaking down, and Peter didn't want him to, because Peter would follow along. "And if I never do, I'm sorry for fucking seducing you like a perv, and drugging you, and breaking your limbs, and forcing you into this. I had to do it for family!”

"No! No! Let me go home! I need to go home!" Peter thrashed, not willing to just give up and let his man win. He refused to willingly be bought and sold like a fucking toy. And if he ended up going, he was sure as hell going to put up a fight. "What about my family! What about me! You let me go and I can help you! You and your family!"

"Shh, shh, calm down, sweetheart, it's gonna be okay," Peter knew instantly this man was a father. He used the same voice as his own father, Tony, when he was worried or scared for Peter's safety. And although the boy strongly hated the man sitting beside him, he relished in the familiar feeling of being  _home._ "You're going to hurt yourself, Peter. Please stop!"

He didn't know why, but Peter did stop his violent thrashing, obediently following the man's word, though he still deeply hated him. However, while Peter couldn't completely forgive the man (he had literally harassed an underage kid), the boy understood where he was coming from. He wanted to protect his family, and so did Peter. Patrick has gotten into a bad, very bad situation to help his family, and others had to pay for it. But Peter figured his wife or husband and kid's lives were on the line, and Peter couldn't completely blame him.

Maybe he should have just been smarter. Maybe Peter should have checked his drink, and found his dad once he started getting uncomfortable. He should have screamed louder, thrashed harder, fought like his life depended on it (which he learned now, it really did). He didn't want to spend the rest of his life being dragged around like a rag doll- being bought and sold by lunatics.

But here Peter was, doing just that. And now, what made it even worse, was that he was seeking comfort in the one person that started this whole thing. Curled in such a tight ball, huddle into the man's chest even as his legs and broken fingers scream for him to be released. His shoulders ached from having his hand been tied around his back, but the hug did relieve some of the tension.

Patrick held the boy in his lap tight, for the first time since dragging him from the cage, being mindful of his injuries.

It didn't change the fact that Peter knew there was no way out, and by tomorrow he'd be stuck with some middle aged man, whom he didn't know. His future would be filled with God knows whatever some creepy old pedophile was planning to do with him. That was the scariest part.

Peter stilled completely in the man's arms, eyes still glistening with tears, however the flow has stopped, leaving him exhausted and drained. How he wished to sleep in his warm bed, covered head to toe in fluffy, expensive blankets, pillows made of silk under his head. Instead, he sat in Patrick's cold arms, being held just above the rough cement floors.

"I... I really am sorry, Peter. You have to understand, I don't want t-to do this. It's just business, nothing personal," Patrick tried in a faint attempt to comfort Peter (or pass the blame to someone else). Peter wasn't buying any of it. If the man was truly sorry, he would have brought the younger boy home by now. It wasn't a matter of ruining Peter's life and future, it was money. The man wanted- needed- money to support his family. Peter thought it was a stupid excuse, but an excuse nonetheless.

So, he stayed in the man's arms, even as he was slowly being rocked into a false sense of comfort and security. Patrick's hands weren't as rough as he remembered them, they seemed far softer now then when he was forcing Peter into his car. His voice wasn't as menacing, now that he though of it.

Peter thought if he ever escaped, he'd make sure Patrick only got a minor punishment (minor being at least fifty years in prison), this man seemed kinder than any pedophile he's seen on the news. Then again, he wasn't the one holding Peter, he was the just the messanger. The UPS worker.

"He won't be as nice as me, Peter," Oh, great, just the thing to say to a terrified teen about to have his life turned upside down. This guy was just trying to freak Peter out even more than he already was. Did he want peter to have a heart attack? Because he was really close to completing that goal! Heck, he already aided in giving the kid an anxiety attack! Peter almost laughed, knowing that only he could have such bad luck as to get kidnapped by some messenger man for sick perverts (well, he assumed they’d be pervs judging by the situation). Only him. But, in all seriousness, Peter was scared to near death. He didn't know what was to become of him. 

Would he ever see Ned or MJ again? Hear their jokes or have miniature food fights and act as if it was war?

Would he ever be sung to sleep by Pepper, who knew just how to sooth someone from a nightmare? Peter knew for a fact that she had experience with helping Tony with nightmares, so he was grateful for her attempts to guide the boy to sleep. Miss Potts was the mother Peter never had, and the Aunt May that he lost (though no one could ever replace May, ever).

He'd never see Tony again. Never see his dad again. The man who had aided him through each and every mission, equipped him with dozens of protocols to ensure his safety and that he'd actually come home each night. Peter might complain, he might whine and moan about how over-protective Tony was, but deep down, Peter appreciated everything his mentor and now father ever gave him. He'd appreciate every Saturday they spent together in the lab testing new designs for each other suits and sharing jokes every once in awhile, teasing each other playfully. Peter would never wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee that he could smell all the way from his room, or the occasional mornings where Tony would be kind enough to put a pan of pre-made cinnamon rolls doused in icing in the oven. Sometimes, when he tried hard enough, Peter could hear the morning news from the common room, and Tony bustling in the kitchen to make sure breakfast was ready for his son, who would groggily come in an hour later. 

Peter was introduced to a new life. And he wasn't ready to cope.

"Let me go. Now. And my dad will give you all the money you need, I promise," The boy tried to compromise, wide, doe-eyes looking desperately into those of Patrick's icy blue ones, begging for his life. It looked as if the man was contemplating Peter's proposition, but there was a hesitant look in his eyes as he weighed his decisions. Peter mouthed another plea, silent, but effective, as something flashed in Patrick's eyes. Regret, with a hint of sadness. A lost,  empty look that no man with a family should ever have. "Please."

"You don't understand, Peter. I can't just give you back. You don't know the people in this business," A flash of horror crossed the man's gaze, before he pushed his thoughts aside. "If I don't deliver what I promised, they'll come after me and my family." 

Peter understood. He really did. Protecting one’s family was at upmost importance, but he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have been chosen out of a million other children to be taken. Of course, he rather be taken than any other kid. Peter would go through a life time of pain and torture to ensure no other kid would go through it. Problem was, he wasn’t the only one in this mess. Thousands of other people were.

He’d get lost in a sea of missing person cases, and eventually, be forgotten, like countless others. Patrick wouldn’t go to jail, he just keep getting more people, not just kids, and selling them off so he can provide for his family. Only a few would be caught, the chain would lose a link, but regrow a new one. It can’t simply be broken. 

Peter didn’t know what was to become of him, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

This had nothing to do with Spider-Man or the Avengers, this was real life. He had just been one of the unlucky few to had been taken, as simple as that.

”Come-come on, Peter,” The man ushered the crying boy’s body off his lap, and Peter whined at the loss of heat. Patrick seemed to noticed, because he instantly answers. “It’s okay, Pete. I’ll run you a nice hot bath and... prepare you for tomorrow.”

Peter panicked instantly, crying out again and shaking his head in fright. The older man was quick to clear up the misinterpretation.

”No! No, I wouldn’t-wouldn’t do that!” Patrick reassured, further explaining his previous sentence. “I just meant, like, you have to shave... everywhere. Legs, arms, uhm, there.” Peter gazed on with half-lidded eyes and wondered Patrick was ever this nice with the other victims. “The guy you’re going with is extremely nit-picky.”

Patrick chuckled. Chuckled, in such a severe and dark situation. This isn’t a joke, Peter thought to himself. There was nothing funny to laugh about. He's never wanted to punch someone as much as he wanted to hit this man. This cruel man who didn't even know just how disgustingly awful he really was. But since his hands and legs were practically shattered and tide back, he settled with crying. Sensing the extreme sadness and anger radiating off the child, Patrick tried to fix what he had broken.

"B-But if it makes you feel any better, he's paying big money for you. Half a million, possibly more once he sees you in person." Patrick looks nervous now. He’s sweating more, some even dripping onto the cold and unforgiving concrete. Peter looks at the floor, memorized each and every crack and imperfection and thinks about how cliche this whole situation is. 

He’s been kidnapped, kept in his captor’s basement (inside a cage!), had his limbs broken so he can’t escape, and is bound to be sold the next day to some lowlife. 

Peter has a nagging suspicion he won’t be getting out of this one.  

“Means your worth a lot, Peter. If-If nothing good comes out of this, just know your worry more than five-hundred thousands bucks, baby!” Patrick gazed into the boy’s eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder and give a small, reassuring squeeze. This time, the boy didn’t shove his hand away, he simply stared long and hard at the floor. 

“There’s always one stupid mistake that ruins everything,” Peter began, voice small as he mumbled into the ground. Finally, Peter brought his hazel eyes to meet Patrick’s. The man stopped smiling and the hand was removed. Peter started again.

”You’re that mistake.”

Patrick’s horrified look was enough to make Peter laugh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and a word of warning, shit happens next chapter, Kay? Don’t go crying in the comment section about how awful this story is. Don’t like, don’t read. Thank you.
> 
> Please feel free to comment/kudo or save to read later. Love you lots- lmc


	4. Goodbye, Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter couldn't understand how someone so normal could be so different. A wolf in sheep's clothing, sort of speak. His apartment was normal, if a bit dirty, and as it turns out, Patrick didn't own a house with some dark, creepy, cliche basement. He owned an empty guest bedroom and a cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, *insert another creepy dude*. Oops, sorry, I didn't mean to do that! Anyways, got some freaky stuff happening so be warned. Tony wants to find his kid and Peter wants to find his dad. Unfortunately, Peter had the burden of two broken legs and ten broken ass fingers... good luck Pete.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Refernced Forced Prostitution  
> -Human Trafficking  
> -Sexual Exploitation  
> -Pedophilia

The bathroom floor was cold.

The tan tiles around him felt like ice underneath his nearly bare skin, and Peter didn’t know which he’d die from first, hypothermia, or embarrassment. Not only was he sitting on his captor’s bathroom floor in only the pair of too-tight boxers, but he was expected to strip completely naked for this one task.

Bathing. Patrick has told him no more than half an hour ago what the plan was. Peter wasn’t dirty. As it turns out, it was only the day after the initial kidnapping, not even twenty four hours! Unfortunately, the young teen was also told that every inch of him was to be shaved. Every. Inch.

Peter always believed he already had baby soft skin (or at least that’s what Aunt May always told him), so shaving felt unnecessary. Also, he was a  _boy_. And while he had nothing against males shaving, it just wasn’t very common, and he sure as hell didn’t do it.

He wasn’t that manly to begin with, so every ounce of body hair was cherished. 

Guess that effort’s going down the drain, the boy thought grimly as he stared at a small stain on the tile. With his hands still broken, moving his arms felt like red-hot fire pokers were prodding at his skin and snapping his bones. So, he chose not to moved them, keeping both arms limp at his sides even as he leaned all his body weight against the cabinet behind him.

The bathroom was white, and for a moment, Peter thought of a mental hospital and briefly wondered why all hospitals were so white.

Maybe white’s the cleanest color, Peter thought, but his real thoughts were else where. Oh course, no one would be thinking about a hospital at a time like this. He had been kidnapped (kidnapped!), and thinking of anything other than escape was futile to his efforts. Even as he looked around with a keen eye, the spiderling found no way he could escape without using both legs, arms and his web shooters. 

There was always the door, but Peter figured it was locked, and with ten perfectly broken fingers, it would be hard to unlock and open. 

Besides, it’s not like he could run anywhere if he wanted to. 

Curse you, broken legs, Peter silently glared at the two limbs that were currently twisted and curled in a sickly way that made his skin crawl. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that the bones had already reset in their current position. He supposed they could be moving slowly back into their natural position, but the chances of that were improbable. When he broke a bone during patrol, Doctor Banner was always sure to reset the bone for him. Always.

Bruce had a way with bodies. Okay, granted, that might sound a little weird, but it was the truth! Sure, Peter had cried during his visits with Banner (only because he was severely injured and treatment was supposed to hurt), but Peter wasn’t scared of Bruce like a normal person was scared of a doctor. In fact, he loved the older man’s company. 

It gave him another person to look up to other than Tony. An uncle, like Clint, Vision,Thor, Bucky or Steve. Peter would never admit it, but he liked Bruce more than any of the others (except Tony). 

Steve was much to strict. May was never to hard on him, and neither was Tony, so being told what to do constantly and disciplined was annoying. He still loved Mister Rodgers nonetheless. Plus, his bannana and chocolate chip pancakes were the best!

Clint was a whole lot of fun, but he wasn’t around often. The days he was around, he and Peter would spend hours playing video games or trying to cook dinner for the others, which would end horribly. But it was quality bonding, the boy thought.

Vision was... well, Vision. All facts, statistics, questions and answers. He didn’t have much of a personality, but Peter was still fascinated by him.

Thor was too loud, but always made him smile. His accent was hilarious, and the confusion in his voice made it hard not to crack a smile. So, when Thor went off to spend time in Asgard, Peter was devastated. However, the god was quick to reassure the teen that he’d be back soon. He’s seen Thor twice since then. Luckily, he was currently back at the tower now.

He didn’t know Bucky well enough to judge how much he liked the guy. But overall, he was pretty cool. And his metal arm was sick, so Peter subbed him a friend.

The women were basically mothers, but that’s another story for another day.

Peter missed them. All of them.

It had been less than a day and his anxiety was already messing with his mind. The separation between him and his dysfunctional family. It was pathetic, really. His need for the ones he loved to be around him. He had lived years without them, yet mere hours had passed and he was about to have a panic attack over losing them.

The good thing (maybe), was that before an anxiety attack was to arise, Patrick turned from the bath once it was half way full of water and bubble bath. The bottle of bubble bath was purple.

”Alright,” the man muddered to himself quietly, but Peter was able to pick it up with his extreme hearing (senses dialed to eleven... and maybe even a half). He turned towards Peter’s semi-shaking form and showed no emotion as he took a step closer.

The boy couldn’t help but flinch. He was scared, though he wouldn’t admit it. It was okay, for a moment, peaceful even. However, as the older man’s hands snaked their way around Peter’s back and behind his knees, the boy snapped.

Literally. He turned his head, and using the only somewhat harmful part of his body, bit the man straight on the bicep. Which, now that he thought of it, was a pretty stupid idea, as Patrick immediately dropped him. 

Now, being manhandled while all your limbs are broken is one painful experience. Unfortunately, getting dropped onto solid tile floor while all your limbs are broken is far worse.

Despite the fact that it tore away what little pride he had left, Peter yelped as his bottom hit the floor and pain shot through his body. For the first time since he’s arrived at Patrick’s apartment, the man showed true anger and hostility towards the boy.

”Little shit!” And every apology that left the man’s mouth not even an hour ago was flushed down the toilet as the back of his hand slapped the boy’s cheek with rage. At this point, Peter thought the man was bipolar, as only minutes ago, he was holding onto the teen as he cried. However, as soon as the frustration entered the man, it left. He now looked regretful, sad even. “Don’t... don’t do that, Peter. Okay? I don’t want to hurt you but if you keep doing shit like that- then I’ll have to.”

Peter found himself nodding obediently, which was an odd position for him to be in. He was never one to back down from a fight.

So either he was weak, or a genius.

Knowing Peter Parker’s mass amount of self confidence, he sought himself out as weak rather than a genius. A genius wouldn’t have been so stupid as to have drank a drugged drink.

Say that five times fast, the boy chuckled internally, despite the red-hot pain coursing through his body. It didn’t help that he had attempted to cushion his fall with his broken arms like an idiot. Stupid.

I drank a drugged drink, I drank a drugged drink, I drank a drugged drink due to dumbness, the boy continued to joke in his head, trying anything (anything) to get his mind off of the pain in his body, and the tears falling down his rosey cheeks.

Patrick didn’t seem as fazed by the boy’s tears as he was earlier, as he completely disregarded them now.

Time was of the essence, as Peter would soon learn.

But now, Parker knew not to fight back... for now at least. This time, as Not-So- Mister Perfection lifted the spider-boy up, he did not lash out. He stayed perfectly still and quiet. Even as he was slowly put down into the water that was just under     luke-warm temperatures, he stayed silent. 

(Even as the water splashed against the appearing bruises along his body that were slowly gaining color, he stayed silent. Even as his mind was screaming at him to move, to run, he stayed silent. Even as his ‘Spider-Sense’ was telling him that he was in grave danger, he stayed silent. And still. Because he did what he had to to survive, and if that meant stripping nearly naked as some man that was old enough to be his dad bathed him... then so be it).

The water was expected as it began to pour over his head and shampoo was being dumped on his curly locks. Some got in his eye, but he didn’t dare to even try to remove it. Another downside to broken arms and fingers. Patrick’s fingers would forever he stuck on his head, swirling and digging into his scalp to ensure complete cleanliness. They were etched into his skin now, and even as they peeled away, they were still there.

Pulling and squeezing. Massaging and scraping.

The man skipped conditioner and instead opened a new bar of soup and got it wet before delicately grabbing the arm closest to the opening of the bath. Patrick was kneeled down now, almost eye level with Peter. He was seemingly not fazed by the fact that Peter’s legs were cramped inside the tub. 

The cleaning wasn’t the worse part. It was the main reason he was meant to take a bath. Shaving. 

The older man obviously didn’t trust the boy to shave by himself (obviously, how could he?), and took matters into his own hands. He started with the arms, taking a men’s razor and dragging it along both arms once applying a thick amount of soup to the area. The legs were worse, and Peter cried the whole time in pain. So much pain.

When he thought the worst part was over, he stared with longing eyes at his captor, who hadn’t put the razor down yet.

Why hadn’t he put the razor down yet?

Patrick’s hand moved back to the tub. Lower than Peter’s torso, higher than his legs, and Peter screamed. Just as loud as he did the night of his capture. High-pitched and girly, but it did the job. His temporary captor’s hands sprang back in fear, but Patrick bounced back quick, putting a hand over Peter’s mouth and pushing until the boy’s head slammed into the back of the bath tub. 

“Shut up,” Quick and low, but effective nonetheless. Peter shut up. He was in no condition to be mouthing off. This wasn’t Spider-Man fighting some mediocre bad guy while saying some bad puns. This was Peter Parker, a normal kid, being held captive by a man who had much more power over him at the moment. Broken limbs, remember. 

Peter nodded as more fat tears slipped down his face and added to the now cold bath water. 

Patrick’s hand returned to the hem of his boxers, and pulled them down.

—————————————————————

Tony Stark did not like to sleep. 

When you slept, you did nothing productive. Well, obviously, you’re unconscious. Which is exactly why he hates it. There’s always something to do, all day, everyday.

Like filing paperwork, paying taxes, cleaning out your refrigerator, or, y’know, looking for you’re missing son. That was his personal least favorite.

He was so furious, the others were sure smoke was spilling from his ears. And that was sugar-coating it! Seeing Tony so distressed and anxious made everyone distressed and anxious. Especially the Avengers, who were currently sitting still as a pole listening to the man spill the situation. 

“So, Peter’s gone? As in kidnapped?” Steve asked. He prayed to god he had heard his friend wrong. Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered. So, he prayed again.

”Have you been listening? Yes! He’s missing, he’s gone, someone took him!” Stark argued, his eyebrows threatening to reach his hairline as his crazy eyes flashed across the room after glaring at Steve. The glare held no real hostility for for the other man though.

“How can someone just take him and disappear without a trace? It doesn’t make sense,” Clint bit, snarling slightly and baring his teeth at the thought of someone taking their kid. Well, Tony’s kid. The boy had grew on all of them. Tony stared at the other man, and his face was went from pure anger, to sadness.

”I dont... I don’t know,” The man muttered, plopping down on the couch next to his teammates. For once, not heading to the bar for a drink. “I leave him alone for one second, one damn second! And someone takes him. God, this is all my fault.”

”Oh, shut it, Stark. You know damn well you couldn’t have stopped this from happening,” Natasha growled, holding back a yell. “Sure, there could have been some extra safety measures, but you didn’t willingly hand over the kid to whoever took him. Did you?”

Tony considered this.

”No, but I should have stayed with him.”

”It’s wasn’t your fault, Tones. It’s no one’s but the guy who took him,” Bruce muttered, putting a reassuring hand on his friend’s back, which was a rare gesture considering how little physical affection Bruce could handle. “And besides, we’ll get him back. That guy practically made a death wish messing with your kid.”

”Y-You’re right, Bruce. Okay.” Tony smiled. He had a plan.

”Natasha, Clint, you guys are secret agents- or whatever the hell you are- which means you guys can do all the government searches and stuff,” Natasha was about to open her mouth to retaliate, but clint was quick to shut her down, knowing there was no arguing with Tony at this point. “Search the area, the gala, everything! Steve, you and Bucky can talk to some of the witnesses that were at the gala last night. They might have gotten a better look at the guy’s face,” Steve was quick to nod, Bucky following soon after. He didn’t know much about Peter, but was sure as hell going to help find the kid. “Bruce, you and me will analyze evidence and that shit,” Tony whiped his running nose and straightened his back. “Vision and Wanda will help out everyone when needed. Okay? Go!”

Tony was out of the room before anyone could say a thing. 

There wasn’t even a single breath before everyone else had moved to do their special job. Natasha and Clint were quick to find and harass everyone and anyone who was at the party and hand them over to Steve and Bucky before conducting their own little investigation at the ball room.

Steve and Bucky had a line out the door of witnesses to interrogate, and they wouldn’t stop until someone said they knew anything about the captor. Anything helped, no matter how small.

Which was why when the bar waitress that night said she knew the man who was talking to Peter, they went bat-shit crazy. Because this was a lead. Not even a day into the investigation and they had a pretty strong lead.

Steve was sure that god had answered his prayer this time.

”Patrick’s his first name, not sure about his last,” The lady who was working one of the bars at the gala that night spoke. “Very talkative. Seemed very put together, charming, successful.” She pauses for a minute and stared at her shoes from the chair he sat in before looking back up at Steve. “Talked to... Peter for awhile, ordered him a drink and the next thing I know the poor kid’s being led towards the exit.”

”Wait, he ordered Peter a drink?” Bucky inquired, stepping forward slightly, crossing his arms in confusion. They were on to something.

”Yeah, just another soda. I didn’t think anything of it ‘till I saw the guy taking the kid out. Seemed kind south of it, Peter I mean. Almost acting drunk,” Bucky spared a glance towards Steve, when realization dawned on his face.

Drugging. It was obvious. The kid had been drugged and kidnapped the same night of Tony Stark’s charity gala. They had to tell Tony as soon as possible. There had to be some kind of DNA on the glass, or residue of the drug the man had used. This was more than a lead.

And so, and hour later, the two men told the team about their accomplishments, and Tony demanded they all continue working. Anything to get his kid back and safe as soon as possible.

However, as the evening came to an end and the sun settled beyond the horizon and the stars came out to play, the investigation was put on hold. Tony had no qualms about arguing against this. 

This was his son, they were talking about. The same boy who he had promised May he would protect. Peter, the one who hadn’t deserved anything he had gone through at all because he was just such a good person, a real innocent kid.

And he was just taken. Right from under Tony’s nose.

The billionaire would give anything to be sitting on the couch with Peter, bundled in a mountain of blankets with ice cream and Star Wars playing on the flat screen. It would be peaceful, and every so often Peter wild quote parts of the movie which would make Tony smile so goddamn much.

He loved the kid so much. So, so much.

—————————————————————

Despite being put in a warm set of clothes, Peter felt cold.

Cold, and empty. As if every ounce of life he had left was sucked out of him. Little did he know, that wouldn’t happen until later, and when it did, it wouldn’t be pretty. 

The boy glared at the wall of the room he was currently in again. Back in the cage again, but he could actually see the room he wa sin this time. It looked to be just a spare room that hadn’t been cleaned in a long while. And as it turns out, the floor had not been concrete, but just an unpolished hardwood that was scaled in filth.

Peter was glaring at the wall, because there was a poster on it. A medium sized ad for some band that he had never heard of. 

‘WHEATUS... SATURDAY SHOW- STARTING AT $10 AN HOUR... COME ON DOWN FOR MUSIC, BEER, AND FUN!’

Music, Beer, and Fun. Yes, this was fun. This was just so much fun. It was mocking him, and Peter dared himself to stare any longer at the ripped poster. He didn’t know who the hell ‘Wheatus’ was, and he didn’t want to know either.

He’s never wanted to rip something off the wall more than that piece of shit.

Peter was shivering despite being dressed in a pair of very loose sweatpants that were baggy around his twisted legs, and an extra large band t-shirt. Wheatus. 

He was going to scream. Or at least, he would, if there wasn’t a bandanna running through his mouth, preventing him from making any real loud noise. It didn’t stop him from grunting and moaning in pin as his body pressed api fully against the cage walls.

Luckily, he’s be out of the cage in no time. Unluckily, it wasn’t for the reason he hoped.

A different man was here. Peter could sense it. And when he walked in the room, the young boy cowered. 

He looked older than Patrick by a few years, and looked like a half white, half African American fatass. Okay, he wasn’t that fat, he was actually pretty Lena and helathy looking, even if his hair was receding and had premature wrinkles covering his whole face. 

When he talked, it sent shivers up Peter’s spine, and he visually shook.

”Whats with his legs? Ya’ break em or somethin’?” He asked, his voice dark and nonchalant. He was so surprisingly calm about this whole situation. Patrick spoke up next.

“His arms too. Stronger than he looks, Ray,” So, the other man’s name was Ray. Now that Peter knew, he could curse out this man in his head and use his real name in every single insult.

Fuck you, Ray, the boy thought, but he wasn’t that bold. He was shaking his his skin.

”Oh, ‘kay. He’s a pretty one, I’ll tell ya’ that! How much you say, Desmond?” Wait, what? Who the hell was-...

Desmond. His name wasn’t Patrick. He had lied and Peter believed it. Oh god, oh god. How could he have been so stupid!? Peter looked down right appalled, and Patr- Desmond only stared back from behind Ray. 

“Four pounds, fifty thousand dollars,” The lying man demanded and Ray whistled, his eyes roaming every inch of Peter’s body. The teen didn’t miss the way the man licked his lips with his disgustingly pink tongue and smiled at Peter like he was a child. He was a child.

”High price, but I’ll take em. What’d you say his name was again?” Desmond smirked at the boy, and Ray said nothing for a few seconds. It was complete silence as Peter cried. He was done for.

”Parker. His name is Parker.”

”Sweet name. Come on, baby, let’s get you down to the car.”

Peter cried out then, but neither men seemed to mind, and Desmond merely out the blanket back over the cage. Peter didn’t know how any of this was supposed to work, but he didn’t think it involved his name being switched, and a man lying about his own. 

Ray handed over four pounds of something Peter didn’t know, and a few fat stacks of cash before leaving the home. The neighborhood was not nice, and Peter was starting to realize why his adoptive dad hadn’t found him yet. Tony was probably think Spider-Man. This was no Spider-Man.

This was personal.

It hadn’t been more than a few minutes in the car before Ray stopped behind a gas station and roughly ripped the boy from the cage, tearing open skin and nearly ripping the boy’s only clothes.

Much to Peter’s horror, a thick amount of mascara was applied to his already long eyelashes, and Peter briefly thought of how degrading it was to be sat down by a man much larger than himself as make up was being dabbed on his eyelashes. Black smeared across his eyes die to the many tears falling down he kid’s face.

The older man pushed a curl of hair behind Peter’s ear as he held the boy upright.

“You’ll be good money,” The man smiled, before leaning in and planting a big, wet, smoky kiss on the boy’s cheek. “Don’t worry, we’ll get yer’ legs and arms fixed up real quick, and you’ll be up to anything they pay for, huh?” Ray grinned a mischievous smile and patted the boy’s thigh gingerly. “Heck, I wouldn’t even mind havin’ a go at ya’.” 

Then, Peter was placed laying down in the back seat of the car, mouth gag still in, and Ray took off to the highway.

The car smelled of smoke and Peter cried in realization.

He... wasn’t getting out of this one.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven’t eaten in two days but I feel great and writing makes me happy. I hope you enjoyed this chapter was really hard to write oof.
> 
> If you enjoyed please few free to leave a comment, kudos or save for later! Lots of love- lmc


	5. A Reason for Mascara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before was gone in a blur, and Peter’s eye’s felt heavy. Maybe it was the fatigue, he hadn’t eaten in just under two days. Or, maybe it was the thick amount of mascara on his eyelashes, weighing them down. Whatever it was, Peter knew he didn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> -Forced Prostitution  
> -Sexual Exploitation  
> -Underage Prostitution  
> -Panic Attacks  
> -Abuse  
> -Rape/Non-Con (Not graphic)  
> Overall a pretty shitty day for Peter as his family tries in vain to look for him.

Tony spent three hours looking up every single ‘Patrick’ in New York and showing it to the bar waitress, whose name turned out to be Beatriss.

Of course, there were thousands of results, ranging from babies to recently deceased. Stark never knew Patrick was such a popular name now-a-days, but FRIDAY was rarely wrong. The list went on for pages, and every person’s photo that showed up was immediately shot down.

Beatriss knew what he looked like, he was a real eye catcher, she said. Bright eyes, chiseled face, fluffy hair. He didn’t look like a kidnapper at all. Tony sneered at that remark. Obviously, he had been a kidnapper. 

The morning was rough. The sun didn’t feel as warm, and it didn’t wake Tony up with the same hope that today will be a better day than the last. It didn’t shine into his bedroom through the French doors and illuminate Pepper’s skin in brilliant shades of orange and yellow. It didn’t give the room a goldish tan and fill the day with power and hopes and happiness. It didn’t make the coffee feel warm and comforting, a deep concoction to wake you up so the day could be full of adventure. The blankets didn’t feel as velvety soft, or as warm yet cooling at the same time. It didn’t make the headaches go away, or the nightmares of the night before melt away into nothingness.

No. Not today. This morning, the sun burned his eyes and ripped his eyelids up until they found their way behind his red-rimmed eyes. Pepper wasn’t in bed, probably at work at another SI building in another state. The coffee was bitter and burned his lip. The sun reminded him of Peter, his bubbly personality and absolute to be right in your face always, but it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. The nightmares came in full force.

And as if this dreadful morning could get any worse, Beatris had given him the worst news he could ever imagine.

”I’m sorry, sir. I don’t recognize any of these people,” The lady regrettably told the billionaire, face grimacing and eyes filled with sadness. She didn’t know Peter personally, but something inside her made her feel obligated to help find him. 

After all, she allowed him to be drugged in the first place. She wasn’t paying attention.

”You don’t recognize any of them? None at all? There’s thousands of results and you can remember what the damn guy looked like?!” Tony’s anger was affecting his ability to communicate, and he wished Pepper were here to calm him down. He has always hated taking his frustration on those who didn’t deserve it. Beatris was doing all she could.

”No, no, I remember what he looked like perfectly!” The lady begged, reassuring the troubled man that she had an idea in her head, and if she saw him, she’s no for a fact it was him. He had been by the bar nearly all night, only occasionally talking to some people. “H-He has brown eyes, dirty blonde hair and was white. The night of the gala he was wearing a dark blue suit with a white button up, no tie. He had black shoes on. His teeth were pretty much perfect, except for the bottom row, I’m not sure why but there was something off about him.”

Oh, do tell, Tony thought to himself as he raised an eyebrow at the young lady, who was quick to continue her theory.

”Like he was waiting for something, maybe, I don’t know! He was just kinda walking around, staring at people and drinking. Looking for someone, I guess,” Beatris finished. Tony stared long and hard at the lady, quite content with the look of terror on her face as she sat still in front of the amazing Tony Stark. 

A deep ache filled his body as he took a seat on the leather couch right beside the kind lady. Tony was surprised someone actually cared enough to help out. Most people would have ignored him, or denied they knew anything. It was the truth. But-but Beatris was very nice, very helpful. And the young lady’s ‘Jersey’ accent was very comforting. Not as comforting as Pepper’s, but close enough to steady hai breathing and slow his heart rate.

”I don’t- I’m really sorry, sir. That’s all I know. I-I’m so sorry I can’t help much more,” She was grasping at straws. Despite her rough exterior- the tattoos and piercings and dyed hair- she was a sweetheart. It pained her to see this surprisingly kind man going through something so horrific. She knew if she lost her own daughter, the heartache she would be going though would never stop.

”Thank you. Thank you very much, hon. I appreciate you coming all the way up here to help,” Tony started, placing his head in his hands, stifling the frustration and sadness that threatened to show. He had to be strong. He just had to be. “I’ll show you downstairs, and I’ll have Happy drive you home.”

”Thanks so much, Mr. Stark. I hope you find your son. I’m sure you will though, you’re the smartest man on planet Earth,” That sent a shock-wave of terror down Tony’s spine. He was smart- so smart! How could he not have found Peter already? It’s been two days, two long and painful days without A single piece of evidence to lead them to the culprit. 

Except a name. Patrick. 

P. A. T. R. I. C. K.

Patrick.

Tony knew no 'Patricks'. There was not a single Patrick in his line of work. Not a single one! Why has he been at the charity gala? It was exclusive, main party plus two guests. He wouldn’t have been able to get in without being a guest or being part of a party. Which means someone had him tagging along.

He needed the guest list. 

In a fury of sudden energy and adrenaline down Tony’s spine as his eyes widened and his mouth sat a gap. 

“Uhm... go down two floors, take a right and three lefts and turn the corner and Happy will be there. Thanks, have a good day, bye,” The man turned from the flustered woman who called after him, but he was far gone, running through the halls to get back to the common area. He was pretty sure none of the others were there, but he had a phone and two thumbs and would call every one of their asses back.

And so he did, breathing labored and chest tight, he called every single one of the Avengers, plus Pepper back to the tower. There was a discussion that needed to be had.

”What’s this about, Tony? Buck and I were in he middle of-“

”Yeah, yeah, that’s great but I discovered something actually useful,” Tony interrupted the super soldier, who wasn’t quite fond of the man pulling each one of them away from the investigation. They were trying to help find Tony’s son. He should at least respect that and not intervene after only day three with no sign of Peter. The clock was ticking rather quickly. 

“And this, ‘useful’ information would be...” Natasha raised an eyebrow. She, like Steve, was angry about Stark’s interferes with what they were doing. However, the billionaire did say he had information about the investigation, and Natasha would do anything to find Peter. Anything. He was her son almost as much as Tony’s.

”A name,” Tony’s eyes widened and a rare grin spread across his dropping and tired face. “Patrick. A specific Patrick that had to have been a guest at the party. Which means, we look on the guest list, find a Patrick, get a last name, and find that sick sonofabitch!”

”Stark, there could have been many by the name of Patrick at the party you attended. How will you be sure you are lookinga t the correct one?” Thor suggested, eyebrow arching with a questioning glare.

”There’s not a single Patrick in the business, Pointbreak. And I’ll hint down each and every Patrick ‘till I find the thief that took my kid!” Tony growled. 

The room was quiet for a small moment, nothing but oxygen and carbon dioxide floating inthe open space.

”A name,” Clint repeated, eyes calculating, mouth a thin line. With a labored breath, the archer let out a gruff noise. “I don’t know about you guys but I think we shou-“

”Let’s go find ourselves a Patrick.” Natasha finished, and Tony grinned something fierce. A certain grin that he hadn’t held for three whole days after the disappearance of his son. A mischievous grin.

”I know just the guy to help us.”

Bruce couldn’t help but be worried. Thor merely smiled and high fived Tony with words of gratitude. A grin like that couldn’t mean anything good.

.......

The man was short but hefty, with a thick beard and dull, blue eyes that probably sparkled when he was younger, but now we’re just a dull shade. He wore a suit, navy, with a striped tie and brown shoes and he looked positively rich. 

When Tony opened the door, the man’s eyes lit up. He had a strong voice, booming and steady.

”Tony! Welcome! Come in, come in!” The man paused to glance at the group behind his old friend, but his smile didn’t waver. He merely grinned larger. “I see you’ve brought some guests. Names Joesph McLough, but please, just call me Joe! And you are?”

”Evening, Joe. Long time, no see. This here are the Avengers,” Tony introduced, Joeseph smiled a fridenly grin and shook each one of their hands as they introduced their names.

”So, what can I do for you?” The stout man asked as he took a seat at his desk, the other 6 taking their seats in front of the polished wood. Everything seemed expensive. The furniture, the floors, Hell, even the ceiling looked like it cost an arm and a leg!

”We have a problem,” Tony started, eyes suddenly going dark with a glassy finish. With a somber look like that, it seemed to the others like the billionaire was having a hard time already.

”Tony’s son, Peter, was kidnapped at the charity gala three nights ago,” Natasha began again, and Tony thanked her with a single look. Joseph looked stumped, however, a questioning look on his features.

”Hmph, sounds like something the authorities should be handling. Have you contacted police yet?” The wealthy man asked with genuine concern. He had mat Peter a hand full of times. Whether it be at more charity events, press conferences or just occasional dinners and parties. And what a fine young man he had been shaping up to be. Polite and kind to everyone, willing to help out, and all around a very nice boy.

Tony frowned considerably at that.

”They’re nothing but a bunch of bullshit, Joe. You know that better than anyone after last years fiasco,” Joseph growled under his breath, but no hostility at Tony. The memory of last years annual charity gala was aoemtgibg of nightmares. “Now listen. We need the guest list from that night.”

”Anything for you, Tones. I’ll have Samuel run down now and you can have a look at it,” Joe smiled, pressing a button on his phone which initiated a beep. Tony guesses that called this ‘Samuel’ fellow up to the office.

”You sure we can trust this guy?” Steve muttered into Tony’s ears, quiet enough so Joe didn’t notice. The man was currently checking something on his computer, paying no mind to his guests.

Tony look offended.

”Are you kiddin’ me, grandpa? Of course we can trust him. I’ve known him since sophomore year of high school,” Tony spared a glance to the man in front of him. “He’s a good guy.”

And with that, a frantic young man, looking to be in his mid twenties, walked into the room. He had dark bags under his eyes, and a watery smile. His clothes nearly hung off of his lanky form, but he was quick to fix himself before appearing next to his boss.

”Thanks, Sam,” Joe smiles, taking the file that the young man was holding. Samuel hesitantly took a look towards the Avengers, offer a small smile in greeting. Thor grinned back and Bruce gave a small smile back. Natasha modded her head towards the boy, as did Bucky, and Steve said a quiet ‘hello’. Tony paid him no mind as Joe continued. ”Head on down to mail and tell Margo to deliver my mail next week. I’ve got enough papers here to rebuild a forest, hah!”

Samuel gave a small laughed and left in a hurry.

”So, this is the guest list?” Bucky mumbled, and Tony gave a grim chuckle, which felt a little out of place in this situation. “Seems a little... small?”

”It was a private event,” McLough was quick to say. Bucky let out a gruff response and leaned back in his chair. He still didn’t trust the man sitting in the designer chair in front of him, despite Stark’s reassuring words. Something wasn’t right.

”Joe’s right. Only invited guests and their plus twos,” Tony muttered, looking over the paper in front of him, skimming and scanning over every name in hopes of finding the one they were looking for.

”Who’d you say you were lookin’ for again?” The boss asked and Thor was quick to come up with an answer.

”A sir ‘Patrick’,” The god answered. 

They could have sworn they saw something then. A flinch maybe. Something towards the other side of the desk that just caught they’re attention for a split second. It was a flinch. Joe had flinched at the name as of it were a slap in the face. 

Tony had seen it too, and for a moment, there was an untrustworthy gleam in his eyes. As if he were just betrayed by someone he thought was loyal. Something was definitely wrong.

”There was no ‘Patrick’ attending the event. I’m telling you, there’s not a single ‘Patrick’ in this line of work,” Joe growled, snatching tge paper from Tony’s hands, prying Steve’s wondering eyes from the page as well. 

“Hey, wait a minute, that makes no-“ Steve was caught off briefly by Joesph’s strong voice, cutting deep through the air.

”I think it’s time you all leave. I think you’ve over stayed your welcome,” Joe stood from his chair, ushering the seven out and into the hall. “Samuel will show you out, won’t you?”

Samuel had been waiting out the door, jumping when it swung open. He shook his head quickly before clutching a stack of papers tight to his chest.

”Right this way,” The man said in a quiet voice before leading the group to the exit of the building. Everything had just been so... weird, about their visit, the group thought.

It was obvious that something wasn’t right about Joseph McLough. But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered, was figuring out who the hell was ‘Patrick’ and where the hell he took Peter.

”You know what?” Tony suggested, hand gripping into a tight ball as he sneered.

”What?” Natasha inquired.

”I think it’s time to step it up a notch. We’re heading to the highest form of government I know,” The billionaire opened the door to the car that pulled up in front of the group, leaning forward to talk to Happy. “Find the nearest SHEILD agent, take us there.”

”Fury?” Bruce guessed, getting in the car along with the others.

”The one and only.”

A dangerous gleam sparkles in Tony’s eyes, and Steve sweared the only other time he saw that look was during the fight with Loki. A rare stare that chilled all of them down to the bone.

They’d find this ‘Patrick’ and best him ‘till his own dick was down his throat and he couldn’t feel his legs.

—————————————————————

Peter’s eyes felt heavy.

Very heavy. Like a constant pressure was holding them down and pinned his eyelids over his eyes. Like they were glued shut.

But he could still see. His eyes were open, just too tired to stay open for long periods of time. However, Peter didn’t trust the man driving in the front seat, who was mumbling alon to some random song on the radio as if there wasn’t a kidnapped child in his car. 

He didn’t really know why he was so tired, he had slept for a few good hours, and he assumed they still weren’t near their destination as they were still flying down the highway in the fast lane. So the random fatigue he felt on his eyes must have been just traveling exhaustion. 

Except... maybe it was the mascara on his eyelashes. The thick makeup has been weighing his eyes down this whole time, keeping him front staying on high alert. Peter still didn’t know why the mascara was applied to his already long eyelashes. He was a boy.

Not that he had anything against boys wearing makeup! No, he was accepting, but he never saw himself as one to wear it. Peter just found it odd that his captor felt like he needed to put the makeup on. It was just weird. This was all just weird.

The car provided a constant humming.

A constant bumping over holes in the road.

A constant string of beats and singing coming from the radio.

_‘You gotta fight! Duh, duh! For your right! Duh, duh! To party!’_

You have to fight, for your right to not be kidnapped and held in some stinky car for hours, Peter bitterly thought. He planned to fight, too. Peter just had to do something about it, not just sit here let himself be made up like some doll.

But at the same time, he had seen these types of things on the news. Kidnappings. And sometimes, when the person is finally gets away from their captor, they things like, “I survived by doing what they told me!”. Peter thinks that maybe, he should do just that.

Listen. Do what they say until the time is right and he can escape. It’s not the same as fighting, but it’ll sure as hell keeping him alive. Hopefully.

And so, Peter stayed still, head facingvthe windshield, not looking into the driver’s eyes as he glanced back every now and then. No, he stayed out and hummed his favorite song in his head.

He reenacted scenes from Star Wars to pass the time. Peter thought about Ned and Mj and thought about how much longer they have to go without knowing that he was gone. Maybe they already knew.

By thinking to much (he’d been doing that a lot the past... three? Four? Days), the drive went by quicker than expected, and before the teen knew it, the car was pulling off at an exit. 

Exit 786.

That’s a big number, Peter thought with an internal smile. A smile that held kibplace in this situation.

Peter didn’t have to wait for long. Just a few more minutes of Ray whistling along to some unknown tune and the two arrived at their destination. A gas station about three miles off the exit, with not a single soul in site. The place looked run down, closed forever and Peter briefly wondered what they’d be doing at a place like this.

Ray parked the car behind the building without a care, getting out of the car and opening to back recklessly. There was a forest behind the gas station, with a broken fence deprecating them and the wilderness.

The bigger man carefully placed hisarms under Peter’s knees and back, slowly lifting him. And despite his efforts at not hurting the boy, Peter managed a small squeak in pain. Which then, attracted the attention of another man behind the two.

”That’s the kid?” The voice asked, gnarly and broken like an old record. Ray turned to the voice, reveling a tall, lanky man with greying hair. He didn’t look terribly old, maybe mid fifties at most. His clothes hung off his body just a tad, but overall he was pretty muscular and toned. 

“Yep,” The man who was currently holding Peter answered, walking towards the older man, holding onto Peter just a bit tighter as they approached. The other man had a gleam in his eyes that gave Peter a bad feeling in his gut. Hungry eyes that looked almost the same as when Ray first layed eyes on the teen. “Broken arms, broken legs. You said you could fix them.”

”I can do that. For a price,” The taller man smiled a devilish smirk and glanced to the boy briefly before meeting Ray’s eyes once again.

”You can have a go at him, I could care less,” Ray glanced at Peter’s face, straight into the teen’s glassy eyes. It was obvious that Peter had known there was no way that the small amount of traffic on the road could see them behind the station. There was nothing but helplessness held in those eyes. And Ray couldn’t give a crap. “I just need him healthy enough to survive the ride to Chicago. Dave’s holding him for awhile in that motel on the corner of Rones.”

The man let out a gruff response and turned towards the building.

”This way then. Won’t take to long, but I can’t do it out here,” The man growled lowly. “It’ll hurt. Resetting the bones. Can’t have him catching any unwanted attention.”

The three headed into the old, run-down gas station building, which was nearly bare aside from a full backpack and a sleeping back in the corner of the back room. The tall man led the two into what Peter assumed to be the employees lunch room, which was now only a long table and a dirty, old fridge.

“This where you been sleepin’?” Ray asked, placing Peter down on the table carefully, where the boy wiggles aightly, but quickly stopped as pain sprung through his body and through his limbs. “Nice place, huh, Greg?” 

He was terrified. Peter had never been through anything like this before. The teen has been kidnapped before by villains, but nothing like this ever happened before. It was always either small amounts of physical torture, starvation, or just being held for ransom. Peter hadn’t been... he hadn’t been.

“Yeah, but I’ll be leaving next week,” Greg waltzed to one of the counters, opening up one of the cabinets and pulled out a paper that had been folded multiple times. “Tanya’s letting me stay at her place.”

As it turns out, it was a map of the anatomy of the leg. Next, the anatomy of the bones in the arms. He took both papers to the table and stood next to Peter’s limp body, eyes of hunger looking over him. 

Ray hunmed.

”Tanya’s got that girl right... Mandy or some shit?” The man asked, turning away from the scene in front of him.

Peter barely registered the hands on his right leg, but when the pain started to radiate through his body, a small whimper escapes his bound mouth.

A slap was heard in the room. Harsh, loud and sharp.

”Shut up, now,” Greg growled. The red spot on Peter’s leg was already growing an aggressive cherry color. This time, Peter bit down on the gag in his mouth, holding back a scream that threatened to spill.

Peter knew now, a rule. Don’t make unnecessary noises. 

One rule, he’d learn, out of many.

”Mindy. Pretty girl,” Greg paused for a moment. “Didn’t you say this kid was a girl? It’s obviously a dude.”

Ray smiled something wicked.

”Desmond was the one who got him. His name’s Parker. Put some makeup on him In case some were disappointed with a boy and wouldn’t pay.”

”He’s pretty.”

”Very.”

A split second later, Peter’s leg was being twisted and turned in unusual shapes as the older man attempted to find the place in which the broken bones connected. No more than a few minutes later, his arms were sore, but fixed, and both legs aches with firery got pain m. But they were fixed.

This didn’t mean he could move though. Oh no, he reminded himself that he had to wait for the right time to run. When he was healthier, stronger. Once he got some food in him. Peter could already feel his ribs starting to poke out painfully, and his face hollow out at the cheeks.

He silently cursed his enhanced metabolism.

Peter payed no mind to the voices echoing around him. Instead, he focused on the simpler things. Like what Tony was doing today, and how May would have been going crazy over this is she were still alive. 

“The girls name is Mindy. Seventeen years old. She’s going to Marcus in a week or two,” Greg muttered. It was obvious that he was waiting for Ray to leave the room.

Leave the room, so he could do something so disgustingly cruel, Peter was sure he would throw up. Unfortunately, Ray seemed to get the memo, and nodded as he left the room and with a small voice, muttered:

”Have fun.”

The second the door closed, Peter was being dragged towards Greg’s body, and the teen couldn’t help but struggle.

He could not let this happen.

And this was where he learned rule number two. Don’t struggle. A fist connected to his jaw and Peter fell limp against the wooden desk. All his energy had been drained due to his lack of food and his recently broken limbs. 

The fist collided again and Peter felt a slow trickle of blood starting to flow from his nose, and he was sure to stay completely still for the time being. 

“Stop moving or I’ll have Ray come in and blast your brains out.”

No. No he couldn’t die. He had to get home to Tony and Pepper and Happy. He had to stay alive so he could get home and sleep in his own bed. He had to live so he could go to school with Ned and Michelle again.

He much rather be bullied by Flash then be in this situation.

”You’re very pretty, kid. You’ll make a lot of money, I’ll tell you that.”

But Peter stayed still. Because he knew if he moved he’d be killed and he could not die.

Even as he was dragged to the end of the table where his body touched another man’s in a way he didn’t want, he stayed completely still. And as the man’s hands traveled down his sides and ripped off his clothes, he stayed still.

He stay still through it  _all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a doozy to write. But I still can’t beleive the overwhelming support on this story! I love you all so much and love all your nice comments! This story is special to me despite the heavy subject it tackles.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to comment, leave kudos, or save for later! Don’t forget to share with friends, if you want. Lots of love- lmc


	6. A Four Hour Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds out that amongst the calm atmosphere, something sinister lurks and bites without warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> -Heavy Abuse  
> -Minor Charcater Death  
> -Rape Threat  
> Nothing majorly bad happens in this chapter except for the above warnings, just an fyi. Also, I will never describe a rape scene in this story, I will only indicate that it happened.

Peter got to sit in the front seat of the car, this time.

He got to see the road they were driving on, the people in other cars, and the reason why Ray would sometimes yell when someone cut him off or didn’t use their blinker. 

He got to see where they were going. He didn’t necessarily know exactly where they were or where they were headed, but he could see where they turned left or right.

Peter didn’t feel good. His stomach continued to twist and turn. Despite it being empty, it still ached, like when he ate to much pizza with the team because Tony always ordered to much. And Peter wasn’t one to waste food.

However, Peter didn’t wase his time thinking about the pain in his stomach.

Or in his backside.

Instead, he focused on things that mattered. Like what he was going to do when he got home. The teen figured the first thing he’d do was shower. He’d take a long shower and wash away every ounce of filth and mush off of his body. Next, he’d get dressed the the comfiest pajamas he had; one of Tony’s ‘Stark Industries’ hoodies and a pair of flannel pants he got on his birthday last year. They were still his favorite pants to this day. After he got dressed, he’d eat as much food that would fit in his stomach or until he was nearly throwing up. He’d sleep in Tony and Pepper’s bed, between the two like he did when we he had a particularly bad nightmare.

Peter was planning ahead because he knew, somehow, he’d get back home.

Tony would find him, is probably close to already finding him.

Even if he was found a bit to late.

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by an extremely annoying ringtone and the vibrations of Ray’s cellphone, that sat on Peter’s thigh because the middle console was full of energy drink cans and papers. Peter tried not to think about the lingering touch of yet another man’s fingers on his thighs, and instead listened in on the older man’s conversation.

The majority of it went over his head, but he managed to pick up bits and pieces. None of it important to Peter, so he focuses on a hang nail on his right pointer finger that was bothering him. With the bonds on his limbs gone and his arms and legs finally fixed, the boy brought the finger to his mouth and chewed the dead skin off. He then proceeded to chew his nails until they were nearly bleeding.

Amongst the mindless conversation over the phone, Peter heard a certain sentence that caught his attention.

“Really? Damn, didn’t take Desmond as a murderer, eh,” The man that had taken Peter had killed someone. The same man that had perfect hair and perfect eyes and somewhat perfect teeth, had killed someone. He had also kidnapped and sold a child for money and drugs, but...

He took someone’s life.

Peter was silently questioning who Desmond had ended up murdering, but he didn’t have to wonder for long because Ray had already begun to indirectly supply him with answers.

”The bartender? From the party? I don’t see why he needed her dead.”

Peter’s whole world froze then, before crumbling down into a tall heap of shredded existence. He knew that bar waitress, talked to her and bothered her and inwardly cheered her on as she flirted with the journalist. Peter had known her, inadvertently.

And now she was dead, and Desmond, that sick son of a bitch, had killed her.

”Stark... what about Tony Stark?” At the mention of his “father’s” name, Peter’s head spun to face the larger male, who didn’t fail to notice the odd reaction to the billionaire’s name. Ray gave him a serious, questioning look before returning his eyes to the forever on-going road. Nearly five seconds later Ray’s eyes grew in size and he slammed his foot on the break, swerving three lanes over to get off at the rest stop, effectively cutting off at least two people. The man parked crudely and stared wide-eyed at Peter. He pulled the phone away from his ear.

“You-... you’re Tony Stark’s son?” Ray gasped and Peter offered him a shy, hesitant nod. He was terrified of what the man could do to Tony seeing as though he currently was the captor of the billionaire’s son. The possibilities were endless.

Tony would do anything for Peter. The older man still thought of Peter as his best friend and son-figure, but never his true son. After May’s passing, Tony still hadn’t become familiar with calling Peter his son, and probably never would. But that didn’t mean the man wouldn’t try his damn hardest to protect Peter. Even if that meant risking his own life to save the teens.

So, naturally, Peter instantly regretted owning up to being Tony’s son. He didn’t want Tony to get hurt because of him.

Peter wasn’t worth it anyways. It had already happened, what’s done is done and Tony shouldn’t be fighting tooth and nail to bring home a broken boy. Besides, why would his father want a son that had been-

Why would he want a son who had been stripped of his masculinity, his manlyhood? He wasn’t a girl, this shouldn’t be happening to him- but no! It shouldn’t be happening to anyone, female or male! He shouldn’t be called pretty, or have makeup put on just so some sick fuck could- could-...

Could take away his innocence. The thing that made him Peter Parker.

Peter wanted to go home. And seeing the sickening smirk that grew on Ray’s face made the teen want to die then and there. The boy leaned away from the older man as his big, meaty hand came to rest on Peter’s cheek, rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin in an unfavorable manner.

”Damn... the amount of money some guys would pay to get a taste of you, huh, sweetheart?” Oh god, Peter could feel the bile rising in his throat as his eyes widened and his hands shook in terror. Ray leaned back in his chair and hung up the phone, but not without leaving a quick goodbye to the other end. “Tony Stark’s son. A spoiled brat, no doubt.”

Peter shuddered as Ray started the car once more and got back in the highway. The teen stuck to the far end of the car seat, leaning his head on the window and looking into the rear-view mirror.

His mascara was running, smeared around his eyes no doubt because of the man that had... that had. 

He was crying a lot. It burned his eyes.

“Talk to me kid, where do you wanna go? I’m hungry,” Ray let his gaze focus on the boy beside him for a few good seconds before trailing back to the road. Peter glanced at the man, taking a deep breath, deciding not to answer him in an act of defiance. Peter would hold his ground, despite knowing the consequences.

He hadn’t expected the slap, but once it came, his head shot up and his full attention was on Ray. His face stung as he held a hand to the tender spot where Ray’s hand hit him with enough force to slam his head into the window. 

The man looked furious.

”You answer me when I ask you a damn question, boy, understood?” Ray grit his teeth and exchanged to another lane closer to the side where most of the exits were. “I’ll kill you if you don’t. I don’t give a damn who your daddy is, I can find another kid in a heartbeat.”

No, no, Peter couldn’t have that. He had to remind himself to just listen and follow directions so he could escape unharmed (that was already out of the situation), and get back to his house. His home. So, Peter held down any snarky response that was bubbling in his chest in favor of following the man’s orders.

Despite having his innocence ripped from him, he was still a raging fire on the inside and had a mouth full of cruel things to say to these men.

”A-A gas station is fine, I don’t mind where we go,” His voice barely a whisper and only nearly heard among the loud sounds of passing cars. The older man seemed content with the boy’s answer, linking his arm around the head of Peter’s chair, hand coming to rest at the teen’s nape. 

The genius teen tensed at the contact, but made no move to escape the dirty hands of his captor. Instead, he reminded himself of why he needed to just stay still and listen.

All you have to do is stay alive, Peter, the boy thought to himself, stifling a whimper as the man’s meaty hands began massaging at his neck just barely. There wasn’t really any pressure at all, but Peter’s overactive mind was imagining the worst.

He could break the man’s neck in a heartbeat. In a split-second this could all be over. But there was something holding him back. Something he couldn't quite place that just would not allow him to reach over and fucking break Ray’s neck so he could go home and report his- whatever- to the police. 

But no. He stayed still, instead. The hand was warm, if a bit rough, and it reminded Peter of Tony’s hands. Worn from working in the lab for too long on machines and upgrading his suit. This hand was far bigger, a meaty piece of flesh holding him down. Squeezing and pulling at the muscles in his neck, though since he had been kidnapped, his muscle mass had already gone down a considerable bit. Ray had a watch on, black and sleek, but still pretty cheap looking. It read the time:

10:34.

They had been at the run-down gas station all night, Peter remembers. They slept there. Ray was to tired to keep driving and the man at the station was willing to let him stay the night. 

Willing to let Peter stay as long as the sun still rose and set every morning and night.

But they had to keep moving. If they stopped, they could get caught. And getting caught was not an option in Ray’s book. Because, as he had told Peter about an hour earlier that day, “I paid good money for you, and I plan to earn it all back.” Now, Peter could tell by the off stare Ray gave him that he would be the one making money for the older man.

He could work at a McDonalds or something, Peter thought as he stared straight ahead through the windshield. He couldn’t move his head- not with the hand there. There’s a lot of places he could work, Peter thinks again, places you don’t need a college degree to work at. If he needed money, there were more than enough ways to get it.

Kidnapping was not one.

Peter vaguely wondered how they’d get food from a gas station. Not because gas stations didn’t sell food, most did. But because Peter’s face was most likely on every news channel, every news paper, engraved in everyone’s mind-  _Hey! Don’t forget to look out for that kid from Channel 9!_

Peter thought again, as the road passed by quickly as they approached the next exit, that maybe, this was his chance to escape. Ray would leave him in the car, obviously. Peter could run away. He could find someone and go home. The older man would have to be a downright idiot to even think of bringing the boy into a public place, where people who have most likely seen him on the news, would instantly recognize him. That is what Peter thought anyways, but there was something (there's always something) nagging at the back of his brain telling him that something was off. Now, Peter knew to trust those instincts he gained from the spider bite. Last time he didn't, he was kidnapped by a middle-aged man that sold human beings. So yeah, naturally, Peter was beginning to hied the warnings his Spider Sense (SS) was sending him. The ability rarely lied, as whenever it was triggered, something crazy always happened after.

So he was prepared now. The second Ray walked inside the shop part of the gas station, he'd unlock the door and run his ass to the nearest person who was willing to listen. The teen did register that he was only in a pair of stained boxers that held a mess of brown and white splotches on it, and a dirty tank-top, but he didn't care. He'd run miles naked just to get home.

Peter didn't realize yet, that he'd get used to being naked.

The next exit was approaching quickly, and Peter's whole body was still stiff as a board. The tension never left his body so long as that hand was there. The only thing that was giving him some form of comfort was the radio. The song was catchy.

The boy glanced over at the dashboard, where the information to what song was playing was displayed.

 It read:

_’WAVES BY WHEATUS’_

That name sounded familiar. Well, it should, Peter thought. It was the name of the band from the poster in Patrick’s (Desmond’s) apartment. Small world, his brain wonders, smiling internally. If he ever got home, he’d make sure to listen to all of the band’s songs. He liked them.

Peter would tell Ned about them. The teen knows how much his friend loves music- more than anything. The other boy can’t survive without at least one earbud in. Some thought it was annoying, but Peter never really cared much. As long as Ned was happy, he was happy.

And Ned would sure be happy after listening to this song.

It was oddly optimistic for the circumstances they were in. That didn’t seem to deter Ray from playing the song though, as he was humming along to the tune with gusto. 

“This is my favorite song y’know,” The older man began, talking as if the two had been friends for years. Ray smiled. “Me and my buddies used to sing this band’s songs all day long, back when we were kids.”

Peter realized he had to have a verbal response. He remembered what happened last time he didn’t answer. Obedience would keep him alive and unharmed (mostly unharmed).

”That’s cool,” Peter muttered, just loud enough for Ray to hear him. The boy was afraid of making his voice too loud, especially when his neck was at the mercy of a much stronger (as of now) entity. A flick of the man’s wrist and Peter would be dead in a heartbeat. 

“You ever heard of this band, kid? They’re kinda old,” the man asked, picking something out of his teeth with his pinky, leaving his steering wheel void of any hands. Happy did that a lot- he drove with his knees when he was busy doing something else while driving. Peter wasn’t worried, no one else was on the road right now. 

“No,” Peter answered, short and sweet, not missing how Ray’s eyes glanced over him for a moment before attaching to the road once more. “But,” He was hesitant to continue, afraid he was talking to much and would be hit again. “I saw a poster for them. In Patr- in the- in Desmond’s apartment.”

Ray let out a small laugh at Peter’s stumbling over his words, but other than that, he didn’t answer for another minute or so. The car turned to the exit, climbing up the ramp where the young boy could see an array of old buildings, some closed and others rotting. It would appear as if everywhere the pair went, the area wasn’t heavily populated.

Obviously, Peter mentally smacks himself. He was the victim of a kidnapping, and Ray was smart enough to avoid big town. 

Speaking of towns, Peter didn’t recognize the one they were in right now.

The sign awhile back said ‘Now Entering Corning’, which he correlated the name back to city in New York, which he supposed was good. At least he was still in the same state. He was, however, quite a ways away from Queens, but not to far at all. 

Tony could find him easy. It should have taken him no more than a few hours to track him down. Peter was so damn close to home, so close, he could walk. He wouldn’t advise walking though. 

Corning, one of the most dangerous cities in New York, Peter recalls from an article he read with Tony one morning. There was a shooting earlier that morning, and the news reporter had mentioned that Corning had been one of the cities with the highest crime rate in New York. It was only fitting that Ray would take him here.

It didn’t take long to find a gas station. There were a few right off the exit, but the older man had settled for a crappy Exon Mobil, which had half of it’s gas pumps closed. Ray didn’t seem to mind, as he swerved right on into the parking lot without a second thought.

This is my chance, Peter thought with an internal grin. I’ll find someone with a car that’s willing to drive me back to Queens and I’ll finally be home, the boy fantasized. All he needed as a bus, or an Uber with four hours of free time.

It’s a four hour drive from Corning to Queens.

However, Peter’s big, elaborate, fancy plan was quickly and cruel turned to smithereens as Ray unbuckled the boy’s seatbelt and then his own. The man then walked to the back seat, opening to door and reaching in to grab a large, grey sweatshirt that read the words “Prison Ain’t A Place For Pansies” in big, black, bold letters. That made Peter wonder if Ray had been to prison before, and if he had, why would he want others to know? 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t tegvolder man that was going to wear the sweatshirt, as he had begun to walk to Peter’s side, opening to door and placing the sweater in the boy’s lap.

”Put that on. Can’t let you go running around like that,” Ray grumbled as he aired inpatiently for Peter to put the oversized Sweatshirt on. It obviously wasn’t meant for anyone his size. The hem settled right under his bottom, showing only a bit of the boxers underneath. And, as Michelle would put it, he could make ‘Sweater Paws’ with the sleeves as they were too long. Most of his collar bone was showing, but for the most part, he was far more comfortable. The middle-aged man let out a gruff sigh before attaching his hand to Peter’s shoulder, heading towards the front door to the store part of the gas station.

Peter looked at his feet in dismay, frowning considerably. So much for making his grand escape. 

His heart was absolutely broken. Maybe Ray knew what he was doing, has done this before. Maybe he knows how to hide the person he’s holding captive in plain sight. Peter was on the verge of tears. This much older man, who had most likely gone to jail, down drugs, kidnapped children... was smarter than him.

I am a complete idiot, Peter decided.

The bell on the door woke Peter up from his thoughts as the two walked in. The man at the front desk looked up briefly from the video he was watching on his phone before looking back down. He looked like almost every other gas station attendant- tired, greasy and sad. He looked about forty-something and totally done with life. Peter risked a glance towards him, but didn’t spend much time thinking about him.

Ray was already pulling him along.

They gazed upon each row of sugary, salty, fat-filled snacks that came in dingy little plastic wraps and bags. The man beside Peter didn’t spend much time thinking about what he was grabbing, just like how Peter didn’t spend that much time thinking about the cashier. Ray handed the younger boy the snacks, continuing to pile on chips, candy bars and a variety of granola bars.

”Hold those,” Ray demanded, placing the last bag of Salt ‘n’ Vinegar chips in Peter’s overstuffed arms. “What’d you want to drink?”

”Water’s fine,” Peter dared, had expecting the man to splash out and hit him, even in front of another person. Ray, however, simply nodded and went over the the drink section, Peter following him obediently, trying his hardest to make sure none of the snacks fell. 

“Hey, Parker,” Despite that not being his first name, Peter paid his attention to Ray, staring at him, wide eyes trembling. It was odd being called by his last name, especially when it really wasn’t his last name anymore. He wasn’t ‘Peter Parker’ anymore (maybe inside, he was, but not on the adoption papers). Of course, he didn’t want to be called Parker. If he was stuck with some guy for the foreseeable future, he’d at least like to be called by his real name. 

“It’s Peter,” The boy’s voice trembled in an absolutely terrified manor. Peter didn’t know how Ray would react, and he really didn’t want to get hit anymore. Getting hit-as it should- hurt. And with Ray’s extremely large, gruff hand, it hurt even more. “N-Not Parker. That was my last name.”

Ray took the information in for a moment, contemplating his next movement.

”I don’t care,” The man started, eyeing the boy with a look that could only be described as hatred. “Peter or Parker, it doenst matter,” he continued. “You aren’t worth a name anymore.”

That last comment caught Peter off guard. 

Maybe he really wasn’t worth a name anymore. I had allowed himself to be drugged, kidnapped, sold and-

And.

Why did he not want to even think of that word?!

But it had happened, and he had allowed it too, without much of a fight. Desmond (he didn’t like that name, so he’ll be referring to Desmond as Patrick) had talked to him, bought him drinks and spent time with him while waiting for his adoptive father. Peter couldn’t say he was completely comfortable the whole time with Patrick, but it wasn’t too awful. The man was charming.

And Peter was just to stupid to walk away.

Or at least that’s what he thought.

He’s pretty sure Tony is furious at him. Peter was supposed to be smarter, to be stronger, to be  _better_... but he just kept messing up. Tony has took him in, trusted him to to be his own son, and Peter ruined it all.

He wasn’t worth a name, than he certainly wasn’t worth love.

Ray turned his back to Peter, grabbing to different flavors of energy drinks and than turning back, holding each out for the boy to take. The man glanced at he sad excuse for a human standing at the counter, seeing that he was still stuck in whatever show he was watching on his phone, earbuds digging into his ear. Ray turned back to the smaller boy.

”Say a single word and I’ll beat your skinny ass ‘till you’re dead,” The intimidating man whispered, not shaken by the absolutely horrified look on Peter’s face. Wide eyes, nothing but terrified. The older man continued to the counter ithout a second thought, ushering Peter with him. The boy placed the stuff on the counter, making sure not to drop anything.

The employee glanced at Peter with a noncommittal look, he didn’t care about Peter, just curious. He began ringing up the items.

The cashier’s nametag read ‘Daniel’, and Peter made sure to engrave his name in his memory. He’d like to tell Tony all about this little adventure that had absolutely ruined his life and took everything from him. It wasn’t an adventure from a story book. It was real life.

It was Spider-Man. It was Peter Parker (Stark).

So far, the list of people he’s met so far has gotten quite large. Peter hopes that his father finds him before he has to add anyone else to the list. So far, everyone he has met has been an absolute dick. Especially the man at the rundown gas station a few miles back.

Peter despised him.

Daniel didn’t let his gaze linger and looked away from the desheveled boy eventually. The older man didn’t seem to care about the black, smeared streaks from his mascara running, or the broken, dead look in the boy’s eyes. Peter’s lips were still red and swollen and aching. His neck was still littered in bruises and his skin was still a sickly pale. He didn’t care,  though, he was just curious.

”Family road trip?” The cashier questioned quietly, attempting to release the awkward atmosphere that followed his intense staring at Peter. Ray glowered at the man and Peter knew exactly what his captor was thinking: Does it look like a family road trip, you idiot?

”Yep,” Ray answered, just to keep any suspicions proved incorrect in regards to the two. Peter looked... less of a boy and more of a teenage girl who got dumped. And Ray looked like a fugitive from prison, so the two of them just did not mix. This did not look good.

”Have a good trip,” Daniel muttered, handing the man his receipt before putting his earbuds back in and playing whatever show he was watching. Peter followed Ray back to the door, but not before turning back for one last glance at the cashier.

To his surprise, Daniel stared right on back with glassy eyes. Concerned, but not willing to go out of his way to help.

Peter walked out.

As it turns out, gas station snacks don’t provide a good source of nutrients. Peter didn’t feel any better after eating a bag of lays and a strawberry torture granola bar as he did before. He still felt like he had been starved for weeks. But eating more than two items was overstepping his boundaries, he knew. While the food did nothing to aid him, the water felt incredible in his throat.

Peter continued to chug  the water until he noticed Ray putting on his turn signal to go off another exit, this one, riddled with trashy restaurants and a few motels. Littered around were huge neighborhoods filled to the brim with small, old houses. It looked like a dangerous place- not a signal cop in sight. Ray pulled into a more secluded motel off the main road, and that’s when it started to rain.

Hard rain with lightning and thunder that didn’t show signs of letting up. The cold water splashed against the car as the sky turned too dark to even see anymore. The older man parked, stepped out of the car before going to Peter’s side, just as he had done at the gas station only about forty minutes earlier. Peter was dragged out of the car this time, falling flat on his behind in the cold rain water.

As it turns out, this night was full of surprises. Such as, the fist hurling it’s way towards Peter’s face. The hit came relatively quickly, and the boy had had worse while on patrol, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Peter had never been beat before. Sure, he’s been hit by a mugger, shoved by Flash and all that shit. Hell, he had a building fall on top of him and he still made it or alive!

But there was something about being held to the floor and kicked, punched and basically just beat to a pulp, that really had Peter shaking. It showed who had the real power in this situation. Peter was a superhero, but Ray was able to completely disguise him.

It was like he’d fallen off the face of the Earth.

Peter could feel the blood pouring from his nose despite the rain crashing down on him. His eyes were heavy, and just he overall pain in his body was enough to have him crying. Sobbing, in a motel parking lot, vulnerable, taken advantage of, and submissive to the man beating him.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually the beating stopped and Peter was being hauled onto his feet, weak and wobbly. He was crying, but Ray didn’t seem to care, as he was already leading the stumbles boy up the motel’s outside stairs. The rooms all opened to the outside, as most motels do, and as it turns out, Ray already had a key to one of the rooms.

Room 210.

The bright orange lights that lit up the outdoor hall way burned Peter’s eyes, just like how the pouring rain burned his ears and his skin pricked as each bruise slowly began to appear. His legs were shaking, his whole body exhausted despite sleeping most of the car ride. Eyes red and irritated, tears continued to poor over the bottom lid, mixing with the rain water already on his face.

The door opened, Ray walking with Peter at his heel, to weak to even think about running away, the boy followed obediently. Like a dog following it’s owner.

The room is what Peter thought every other motel room would look like. The walls were a light brown, no paintings, and an occasional hole or two made from either people or animals. The room smelt of cardboard, an old and musty smell. The air, thick and tangible, hot and moist. There was a single bed that held dirty, white sheets and a comforter with stains ranging from brown to black. It wasn’t a nice room by any means.

Ray paid not mind to the quality of the room and left Peter to stand still at the door, mouth agape at the dirtiness and sheer quality at the room.

I guess I was taking the tower for granted, Peter gulped. Maybe he had gotten to used to seeing marble counters, beautiful tile and hardwood floors and tall ceilings. Even his old apartment was better than this, and that place was a dump (it really wasn’t, Peter still misses that place more than he cares to admit).

Ray had made his way to the inroom desk, opening the cabinet just under it and pulling out something shiny.

Hamdcuffs, Peter recognized. His eyes went impossibly wider as he stumbled over his words.

”Woah, woah- wait,” Peter began, but the olde Roman was already approaching his with a serious expression that held absolutely no emotion. It scared Peter to see no look of empathy in those eyes. He was nothing but a greedy man who cares only for money. Peter was a boy, who had a life and a future. And these men had taken it from him. 

They’d taken everything from him.

Everything, inside and out. He was nothing but an empty shell, completely taken over by people of higher authority that could easily kill him. Peter was weak. To weak to save himself and now he was never going to be found.

Peter kicked. And screamed bloody murder. He thrashed and hit and punched  with as much energy and power as he could muster in his tired body. But it was all to no avail. Ray had grabbed him by the wrists, dragging him easily to the bed. Peter bit him. He yelled at the top of his lungs for help. But his cries fell upon deaf ears.

The bed was sticky. Caked in dirt and mud and disgusting substances Peter didn’t even what to think about. Peter hadn’t cried so hard in his life. Even after May’s death.

It wasn’t more than a second later before his chest was bare. No sweatshirt from prison, no tank top from hell. He was left in the dirty boxers that ripped at his thighs and hips and chafed at his skin, rubbing it raw.

Peter’s wrists were handcuffed to the bed frame, nice and snug so he couldn’t escape. The air left his lungs far to quickly and it his vision was soon to blurry to see a foot in front of him. Peter pleaded, begged for the man to let him go because this what’s right. This was disgusting. It was illegal, it was morally wrong, it was- it was...

It was something only a monster was capable of doing.

Ray hummed, seemingly pleased with his work. Then, he talked, and Peter swore the boy threw up in his mouth at just the sound of the man’s rough voice.

”I have to make a call,” He muttered, probably more to himself then to the boy. The man opened the door, the sound of rushing rain cascading through the room. Peter saw a glimpse at the outdoors one last time. The darkness of the night was intoxicating, and Peter took a small amount of time to breathe in the fresh scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol.

Little did Peter know, it would be a long time before he ever got to touch the outside world again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again i have forgon eating and sleeping to instead think about ideas for this story, and new stories. and boy, do i have ideas! i hope my negligence to my health will pay off in the end and you will all love some upcoming stories!
> 
> If you enjoyed, please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc


	7. Morning Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee was ingested to make people more energetic, more awake. It gave people an extra Pep-In-Their-Step and a warm, soothing feeling in their throat.
> 
> Coffee was made every morning. For people who needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s magical Time Skip is brought to you by The Raisin Haters Club. Anyone is free to join so we can provide this book with even more Time Skips because heaven knows this book is moving to slow.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Human Trafficing

The roaring grind of the coffee maker rang out at exactly seven thirty a.m. on a Tuesday morning. 

The sun was up early, shining brighter than usual, and the air seemed a tad bit more crisp than most days. There almost seemed to be an abundance of birds chirping away as the sun rose and the darkness of night crept away. The sound of driving cars grew louder from below. The sound of coffee brewing overpowered everything else.

Natasha Romonav stood next to the coffee maker in a pair of light blue pajama shorts and a t-shirt she had stolen from Clint to long ago to remember. Her hair was deshevled, her face bare of any makeup, and her posture slouched just slightly. She still looked just as beautiful as ever.  She stared, long and cold as the delicious dark brown liquid began to ooze into the coffee pot slowly. However, it seemed like in only a few seconds one cup had turned to two, and so on and so forth.

Tony stood still in the door frame that led into the main kitchen. He too looked like he had just rolled out of bed- when it was actually the opposite. He hadn’t slept in days. He wore a pair of grey sweat pants and a Stark Industries t-shirt that just barely fit him.

”What are you doing?” The man asked, eyes only slightly open, but still surprised as he stared at the gorgeous lady in front of him. Pepper was still the only woman he would ever lay goo-goo eyes upon, but even he had to admit, Natasha was a sight to behold. 

The red-head gave Tony look as if he were stupid. However, she never did look like she had any emotion when she made facial expressions. It was odd.

”I’m making coffee,” The woman answered, seemingly surprised that Stark would ask a question with an obvious answer. She couldn’t blame the man though, he had had a rough couple of weeks. Natasha glanced back at the nearly full coffee pot. It was at six cups and stil flowing strong.

Tony shook his head.

”I can see that,” The man clarified, finally walking into the room and across towards the refrigerator. He rubbed at his eyes, his fingers fitting perfectly into his eye sockets. He almost hated the way everything seemed to fit together perfectly, except for one thing. The only thing that made everything else matter. “I mean why. Why are you making coffee at seven thirty in the morning?”

Natasha hummed. Something she does quite often.

”I wanted some,” She glanced at Tony with a stony, concerned look. “And I figured we should get a head start on today.”

The older man had already begun making himself breakfast, barely even listening to the lady’s words. It was far to early to be holding a conversation. Natasha, however, didn’t think so. She continued to talk, and Tony, for the life of him, could not bring himself to listen. He was to focus on making sure his eggs didn’t burn than to listen to his friend babble in about useless and futile subjects. 

While she talked on and on about this and that, Tony thought about a remark she had made a few sentences prior. Why had Natasha wanted them to get an early start on today? Was something important happening today? Tony didn’t think so. Nothing was important now-a-days. It was all nothing. 

Stark hadn’t noticed that Natasha had called out his name for the third time until she placed a small hand on his shoulder. He turned to her.

”Did you hear me, Tony?” The fierce woman asked, eyes caring and passionate. The man longed for his eyes to speak in the same way hers did. Hers were damaged, but could tell magnificent stories. His were dull and lifeless; a shell. 

Tony cleated his throat. “Uhm, no I- uh- didn’t.”

”I asked how you are doing. Are you okay? Too much sleep, not enough sleep?” Natasha pondered, but all Tony could think about was how odd this whole encounter had been. She was never usually this nice or caring. The man had a nagging feeling in his stomach. His eggs were burning.

”I- ah- slept fine, yeah, it was fine, I’m fine,” Tony stumbled, trying to rap his head around the conversation. It’s been a rough couple of nights, if he was being honest. But he had far too much pride to tell anyone that. Maybe it was time to change the subject. “Hey, th-that coffee smells- it smells good.”

Natasha have him a look that said “I don’t believe you but I’ll let you off the hook for now”, and Tony noticed it. He smiled at her.

”It does,” She turned, walking back to the machine and grabbed two mugs from the above cabinet and poured the caffeinated liquid into each. She poured in just enough creamer and sugar to satisfy both occupants and went to the dining table. The assasin set both mugs on opposite sides of the table. “Come sit.”

Tony took his burnt eggs and sat across from Natasha, who’s sipped at her coffee as if it were a precious piece of gold. Most adults do that. And Natasha, as abnormal as she was, was not an exception. Neither was Tony.

So both civial adults sat at the table sipping their coffee and one eating his brown eggs with no gusto whatsoever. There was a comfortable silence that neither Avengers felt that they needed to disrupt.

Tony has a song playing on repeat in his head, so he focused on that. Not on the coffee that he had no longer longed for in the past few weeks. It was too bitter despite the creamer and sugar. The burnt eggs were the least of his worries, but they still tasted like absolute shit. And he had tried so hard not to burn the poor eggs, but he failed in doing that. Tony has been failing a lot recently, he realized.

Four months. Today marked the four month anniversary of Peter’s kidnapping and there were still no signs of him anywhere. His son had vanished out of thin air. No one has reported seeing him, no vehicles have been identified and not a single DNA sample has been found. Even with the bar waitresses murder, which was obvious committed by Peter’s kidnapper because- well, who else would want to kill her. She had insight.

Natasha took a rather loud slurp of her coffee, before placing it back on the table. Tony pushes away his empty plate and crossed his arms across the table, placing his face right in the crook of his elbow- hidden from sight. The man felt Nat’s hand settle on his elbow, grabbing it tenderly, rubbing her thumb against his arm as a comforting gesture. There were no words discussed, but the silence was still comforting, not awkward. The quiet atmosphere was soon interrupted by Natasha’s soft voice.

”Samantha called,” She started. Samantha was one of the detectives on Peter’s case. Tony loved her, thought she was an angel sent from heaven. The poor lady spent day and night looking for evidence, witnesses, anything! Pepper and her got along like two peas in a pod and the rest of the team agreed she was their best chance at finding Peter. Tony hummed noncommittally. “She said she has an idea of what may have happened to Peter.”

Woth just enough entertainment as he could muster, Tony pried his eyes from his elbow and stared up at Natasha with his honey orbs, begging her to spit it out. The woman smiled.

”I think we should wait for the other side to wake up. It’s important and I don’t want to say it more than once.”

The worried Tony. Something bad had happened to his son, if was obvious. The man could cry, but he kept his tears at bay for Natasha’s sake. She was a strong woman- stronger than anyone he knew- but she was a softy for the innocent that suffer. If he cried, she’s follow along. And the last thing Tony wanted to do this morning was make his second favorite lady in the world cry. Pepper still took top spot, May Parker in third. Samantha in fourth.

”Is it bad?” He asked in a small voice, raspy and quiet. It was heart broken. The look on Natasha’s face answered that question, be she chose to verbalize it as well.

”Yes. But it could help us, I think,” She said in an unsure voice. Tony could I get so hard, but once again, he didn’t. He’d been crying too much lately. He needed to pull himself together and be a man. Tony felt the sudden urge to speak about Peter. The man had held in talking about his son for a along time.

”Do you think he’s okay?” Tony asked, eyes wondering to the window, staring out into the blue sky and clouds. Natasha took time thinking of answer and that worried Tony. 

“No. I don’t.”

”Do you think he’s thinking of me. Of us?”

”Yes. I think he is. Every day.”

”I miss him.”

That one seemed to throw the spy off, because she didn’t answer for about a minute or two. She seemed deep in thought, as if conjuring up the perfect response to such a simple and blunt sentence. Tony was never blunt about his feelings. No, he was blunt about telling people how he thought about them. He was blunt in talking to stupid people. Tony was never blunt about his feelings, there was nothing to be blunt about, his feelings were far too complicated.

”I know,” was all she could think of. Tony didn’t answer for awhile and buried his face back in his arms with a small sigh. It was almost as if he had expected her to say something more. Something inspirational and encouraging him. Tony supposed that this was hard on her as well, but it wasn’t her son that had fallen off the face of the Earth. It was Tony’s.

”I have a headache.” He muttered, and Natasha got up to get him a Tylenol without another word. Her warm hand lingered on his arm fro a moment before she asked away, but not without a small squeeze on his forearm. The gesture reassured him, if only for a short second.

During the small amount of time between Natasha heading to the nearest bathroom to grab some pain relief, both Clint and Steve has entered the kitchen. Each held expressions of sorrow, but Tony wouldn’t know. He still had his head deep in his arms. 

Steve shot the archer a worried glance after seeing his disheveled friend totally falling apart. At least he was eating, Steve wondered, heading to Tony to give him a strong squeeze to the smaller man’s shoulder. Tony didn’t react, and if he did, the only movement he made was burying himself deeper in his elbow. The last thing he wanted was his entire team seeing him crying like a baby.

Clint stayed by the stove, seeing the remanence of a burnt, fried egg in the small pan. The man frowned, turning to the sink to wash off the blackened pan. The super-soldier made his way to the refrigerator while Clint prepared the pan for another batch of eggs, silently. The room felt stuffy now. No longer was it a comfortable silence, like when it was just him and Natasha. No, it was overcrowded now.

To many people breathing their hit breath into the air. It was suffocating.

Tony could hear Natasha entering the room, pause for a brief moment, and then continue walking to him. The man lifted his head, greedily grabbing the Tylenol and the glass of water the younger lady had bright him. He gulped down both the pills and the water with a sigh. He could hear the assasin talking.

”I have news,” She began, and it took a moment for Tony to realize that she had picked up her coffee and began sipping at it again. Like a bird sipping water, it was a slow slurp. “We’ll talk about it when the others wake up. I only want to say it once.”

The billionaire could feel the worry in both men behind him. They too, sensed something wasn’t right. Something, most likely bad, had happened to Peter and Tony had a feeling it was something worse than death by the way Natasha was describing it.

The morning went on without a single hitch. By eight thirty the kettle began to whistle, boiling Bruce’s tea to a piping hot temperature. Tony liked the sound of the coffee maker better, but since Bruce was his best friend, Tony tolerated it. 

No more than ten minutes later, the whole group sat at the dining room table. Each had some sort of breakfast item in front of them, whether that be eggs, bacon, coffee, or in Bruce’s case- tea. It was quiet, it was always quiet now. No matter how early or late in the morning it was always quiet.

And so, Natasha took this moment of silence to say what she been holding in this whole morning.

”As I told Tony earlier, Samantha called me this morning,” All eyes peered at Natasha with apprehension, but a gleam of hope shines through each. She continued. “She has an idea on what happened to Peter.”

The room was silent, the air still. And yet, Steve, as good-hearted as he was, interrupted the growing tension in the room with a question that filled each person’s heart with dread.

”Is he-... he isn’t dead, right?” The man mumbled, though his voice was huge among the still silence. The man blushed with embarrassment.

The woman across the table glared, though took the opportunity to prove that everyone's worst fear was only that, a fear, and not reality.

”No, she doesn’t think so,” A collective group of sighs rang around the room, and even Natasha would admit that she too had felt extreme relief at hearing that the boy may be okay. “But... I’d say this is worse than being dead.”

Tony’s eyes went wide, and tears began to bison up in his is glassy eyes again. This time, he felt a strong hand on his back to groun him. It was Clint’s. His face was strong and serious, and while the man is usually always joking around, he seemed rather serious about this whole discussion. He was a father, too. And though he may not admit it aloud, he missed Peter just as much as he would miss his own children.

”Carry on then,” Thor’s monstrous voice rang out for the first time this whole morning. He had arrived back from Asgard after hearing of the disappearance of Peter. He was much more open about his love for the small boy.

The assasin breathed in sharply.

”She suspects human trafficking is what- is what happened to Peter. She thinks he’s been sold to someone outside of the city and that’s why no one can find him,” the lady finished, and though she expected silence, that was not the case.

”Samantha thinks some punitive sold Peter to be some person slave? She must be looney to think Pete would ever willingly work for someone under those conditions,” Clint argues, knowing Peter was the strongest kid he’s ever met. The genius child would never commit to labor at the hands of someone evil and cruel. Peter has more dignity than that.

Natasha did not seem amused, as she only halted at Clint with burning hot rage. She was furious.

”You don’t understand, do you?” She began and Clint shrunk back, obviously confused at the woman’s growing anger. He hadn’t known what he said wrong to anger her so much. “It’s sex trafficking, Clint. Based on the evidence the team  _was_ able to uncover, they think Pete’s been sold into some kind of network of sex traffickers.”

The room went silent once more, and for once, no one knew how to break the ice. None of them were expecting this. It was, to say the least, the least expected thing they least expected to happen to one of their own. Their own teammate. Their own family member.

Natasha, though tears gathered in her own eyes as well, continued without a hitch.

”They caught someone.”

”Who?” Bruce asked, mostly because no one else was willing to talk. He really didn’t want to, be never wanted to talk. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing or make someone upset. But, he figured a simple questioned like ‘who’ would be okay. For now.

”A man named Desmond Krailer. He’s a drug addict. According to the police, the car they found a week back had his DNA in it. The car witnesses described and the car they found were a perfect match. They questioned him, he broke within two hours. He’s weak,” Natasha finished, grabbing her cup of coffee and sipping from it with her little birdie sips even though it was only lukewarm now. “He told them about Peter but didn’t use his name or say what happened to him once another man- who he did not name- came and bought him for drugs and money. Samantha said she’s seen this before. If Peter’s been gone for this long, it’ll be nearly impossible to find him.”

”But not for us,” Bucky spoke up for the first time this morning, though unlike Bruce, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk. He hadn’t finished his morning coffee yet. His brain wasn’t fully functioning yet. All eyes gleamed at the soldier, the only vocal one that was positive about this whole situation. Yeah, maybe it would be impossible to find Peter if they were normal human beings. But they weren’t.

They we’re the Avengers... Earth’s Mightiest Heros.

Natasha called Samantha back that morning once everyone had gone to their rooms to get ready. The group was to see Desmond whenever they were ready, and was currently being held at SHEILD HQ considering the person he kidnapped was an Avengers affiliate. The detective agreed to allow the heros to speak to the man, howeve rthe conversation was to be heavily monitored by detectives and police to pick up on things the group maybe couldn’t. Things such as; gestures, the way he spoke and clues.

The group had no problem with this, as long as they could get to the bottom of this on going mystery. 

Tony, though he had never studied anything in the court of law or the art of interrogating, jumped at the chance to make this man scream the answers to his questions. And the billionaire had no qualms about making that man feel so much pain, he wished he were dead.

The billionaire was almost a hundred percent sure the others felt exactly the same.

...

The room was dark and quiet when they arrived. The man, Desmond, sat alone in the room, sitting with his head in his arms that lay across the table. The only light emitting in the room was a few bright, white lights that were painful to look at. There was a chair on the other side of the table, and that was the only other thing in the room.

The group of hero’s looked in with eyes of steel. Each gaze different from the rest, yet each pair of eyes held the same direct message. Whether that be a mixture of anger, sadness, grief, regret or guilt (for one man in particular).

Everyone was there- minus Pepper, who, despite her adopted son being missing, couldn’t put the business on hold based on the sheer size of the company. No matter how much she wanted to. Tony, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Rhodey, even Happy we’re there, all standing, patiently waiting for the group of investigators to let them in. Steve even called up Wanda and Vision, who had been gone from the group for quite a long time. He figured they would be helpful in finding Peter, even if they didn’t know who the boy was.

Finally, after a grand total of ten painful minutes of waiting, a man with greying hair and a receding hairline came in and led the group into the room with not so much as a smile.

”Have at him,” The man said, making his way back to the door. “Only rules are don’t kill him and no serious injuring.”

Natasha glared at that, but pushed her anger aside and turned to the man. Tony was the first to talk, and quite the opposite as he had been acting lately, his voice was confident and very out together. Serious. 

“So, you’re the scum bag that took my kid, huh,” Stark gave the man a hardy look, glaring up and down at the man, taking in his drabby prison uniform and hand cuffs. Desmond looked tired, and Tony hoped the man hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t deserve it. The kidnapper looked up from his hands with soft eyes.

”Yeah,” He muttered, almost as if he were the victim in this whole situation. This mock act didn’t settle in anyone’s stomach, but they dismissed it, eager to get answers out of the man.

”Where is he?” Steve asked, but it sounded more like a demand than a question. They weren’t leaving without answers, and the easiest way to get answers was to demand them. Steve was  in the army, he knew all about giving and receiving demands.

Desmond leaned back in his chair, chest puffed as he took a long and slow breath. He was thinking. He had nothing to lose now, he had been caught. It didn’t matter anymore, his life had been thrown away.

”Far away, by now,” The criminal answered, however by the look on the others faces, he could tell that that answer was not enough. “I-I’m not sure exactly where, but there’s a little motel in Corning that he-... that he takes them. Sometimes.”

Happy and Bruce stood together away from the group, both for different reasons. The body guard was devestated- guilty. Who wouldn’t be guilty if they were supposed to be looking after someone, and than they got kidnapped? He hadn’t been watching Peter, that’s why the boy had been taken. Happy had been distracted, selfish and foolish and the boy paid for it. It was nagging at his mind. Bruce, on the other hand, had two different reasons for staying separate from the group. One, was that with his ‘extreme anger issues’, being next to the man that kidnapped the boy he thought of as his nephew did not settle well with his counterpart. The second reason was that he knew he wasn’t very intimidating. The others could scare the man into complying- but Bruce? Bruce was small, and nerdy, and not at all big and muscular. And he wasn’t okay with that, he was quite hands off anyways.

”Who’s ‘he’,” Natasha asked, leaning into the man’s personal space as an attempt to make him uncomfortable. And, as they all expected, it did, and the man gulped hard and started to sweat. 

“The guy I-I sell some of them to,” Desmond said, almost as if he was disgusted by what he had just said. He probably was, but it was far to late to have any regrets. “His name is- uh- oh god I can’t-“

”What can’t you do?” Tony demanded, face contorting into what could only be described as what the Hulk looks like in the middle of a huge battle. The father looked downright disgusted, enraged that his disgusting excuse for a human being was too afraid to tell them the name of the man who sold children for money. How low could you get? “Cause I’ll tell you right now, what you can do, is tell us who the hell took Peter! Their full name, you bastard.” Tony growled.

krailer was practically shaking.

”R-Ray... Ray Hornendez. He’s ha-half white, half Mexican, a real big dude. Uh- he uhm- has a huge tattoo on his right arm of a cross,” The man described, hoping that would be enough for the hero’s. He really didn’t want to sit in the room any longer.

But...

But Peter didn’t want to stay chained to a bed any longer either.

Bucky was the next to speak, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Got a name for the motel? More details, punk,” The soldier said, sniffing slightly at the room’s stuffy air. It was starting to get warm in the room, with all the bodies.

”G-Grand Corning Motel, I believe. Room 215, actually- no, no it’s room 210,” Desmond stuttered. His eyes held fear, but none of them felt any remorse for the man. Peter was probably terrified. His eyes were probably constantly filled with tears. His eyes were probably always red and aggravated and angry and tired. Peter has it worse, this man wasn’t nothing more than a bag of shit. “He- I mean- Ray, that’s were he usually goes. He’s got some exchange with the owners of the motel, they let him stay there. They know about the whole... thing.”

Natasha’s lips faltered into a frown before asking the next question.

”What is he being used for?” The assassin asked, for once, he hands ringing nervously in front of her. She hoped the detective that informed her earlier was wrong. Peter couldn’t be a part of that sort of thing.

”Sex, probably,” Desmond threw Natasha’s hopes into the trash with that sentence. Everyone in the room seemed to lose the energy they had mere minutes earlier. They were going to be the badass interrogators that always get their answers. Now, they just wanted this to be done and over with. “He bought the kid from me for money, a lot of money. And drugs. That’s probably what he’s selling the kid for. At least a few hundred for a few hours.”

”How much has he been... y’know? Like, is it bad?” Tony asked, hoping the man knew what he meant and he didn’t have to elaborate. It was to hard to say the word. Desmond thought.

”A few times a night, most likely. Maybe even in the day, but that’s risky,” Desmond muttered as if it were obvious. The man obviously knew a lot about this topic, seeing as though he was in this business (if you could even call it that) nearly every day. That revelation sparked a question one of the quietest person in the room. Happy- though he was no where near that emotion.

”You ever do that to someone? Or are you just the bastard that sells them?” The bodyguard spoke, for the first time in a long time. Tony eyed his best friend. Happy had assumed Tony was furious with him, and he was right. However, Tony also understood that even if it were his job, it was impossible to look over three constantly moving figures (Tony, Pepper and Peter) for hours in a room packed with people. It just couldn’t be done with on man. So, he forgave Happy and moved on. He was still the billionaire’s best friend. 

Desmond seemed shocked by the man’s questions. Almost as if he thought actually doing the act was so much worse than selling a damn child.

”No! No, I would never do that- I would- I have kids myself, I couldn’t ever-“

”So you have a whole damn family yet you still take people’s children and sell them for money!? You sick bastard! You can’t just take someone’s baby, someone’s reason to live. You disgust me- I loved that kid! I loved him and you just ripped him from my hands as if he were nothing. An object to be sold. They have a special place in Hell for you, you sick son-of-a-bitch,” Tony all but yelled in the man’s face. The billionaire’s own skin was red and angry, lines furrowing I  complete rage. He couldn’t believe the words spoken from this guy’s mouth.

”Tony, Tony,” Rhodey stepped in between the two men, making sure his friend couldn’t see the sorry excuse for a human in front of him. The hero was seething in anger, uncontrollable rage that burned inside him the second he saw Desmond’s hands on Peter the night of the party. He was disgusted. “Calm down, come on. I know you’re angry- let’s go sit down.”

”No! No, you don’t understand. He-he took P-Peter from me. He t-took my kid. I prom-promised to protect him and I didn’t. Rhodey I can’t- I can’t-“

”Shh... shh, I know, I know buddy. We’ll find him, and when we do, we’ll put every other motherfucker that laid a hand on Peter in jail,” Rhodey moved the man away from the group, and, as they all adverted their eyes like they learned to do when Tony had a panic attack, the man hugged his crying friend. Tony’s breath was erratic enough, and though hugging him would only constrict his air ways even more, the man looked like he needed something to ground him.

And what was better than getting a hug from Honey-Bear himself?

The movement seemed to work, and Rhodey was able to pull Tony away from the retched man at the table and into the corner of the room where he could slow his breathing down. Bruce also had made his way over to Tony. The man was also hsi best friend, his science bro, so, it was obvious the doctor wanted to make sure he was okay and comfort him. While this was happening, the others turned to question Desmond once more.

”So, Corning. Grand Corning Motel, room two-ten. Correct?” Natasha clarified and the man simply nodded his head, obviously still stunned by just being screamed at by Tony Stark himself. Than again, he also kidnapped Tony Stark’s son, shaved the kid (everywhere) just because some dirty freak of a man wouldn’t pay for him unless his skin was smooth. So, maybe being harassed by Tony Stark himself wasn’t the craziest thing that has happened the past few months. It was the most eye opening one though.

”Yeah, that’s where he should be. If he isn’t... then I have no idea where Ray took him,” Krailer muttered the last part, kicking the toe of his shoe against the rough, dirty floor with an airy huff. 

Steve stood a little straighter, as if someone had just put a wooden board between his shoulder blades and back bone to keep his posture up right. The soldier cleared his throat noisily.

”We’ll take your word for it, Mister Krailer,” Steve assured, already beginning to assure everyone out of the room. Oddly enough, Clint had been nearly silent the whole exchange, but the glared he sent Desmond was enough to have the man wetting himself. The assassin was probably the reason the man spoke about the incident. He was scared. “Thank you for your time.”

Steve, polite as ever exited the room, but not before pushing Tony’s hand down, which held up his vulgar middle finger in an act of hatred and defiance. 

The group was hopeful, they had made progress. Lots of progress. They had a location, an idea of he state Peter would be in, and most importantly the place the kid was located was close enough to them currently. They could go tonight. Notify the police and have them storm that retched room two-ten and save Peter. 

So they did.

The police arrived at Grand Corning Motel and twelve-forty-two in the morning. There were exactly five police cars, an ambulance and a couple of the detectives cars that were in the case. It was raining, the police car’s flashing lights illuminating the dark and dreary atmosphere. The cops took haste in removing all other residents from the building, keeping them far away in case gun shots rang lose. At least twenty police stood their ground outside the motel, guns aimed for room two-ten, fingers on the trigger, ready to fire. A group went up first, ten police with guns pointed down as they stalked their way up to the second floor.

The Avengers were told to stay back, not to intervene. This was police work, not Avengers work. This wasn’t the world in dire need of saving, this was a single kid being saved from a life of humiliation and darkness. They listened, not wanting to interfere with the law as they didn’t want to be completely kicked off the scene. They needed to see Peter.

And so, the group crawled their way up the steps of the motel, quiet foot steps shuffling closer and closer to that single door that held the most sacred thing in Tony’s heart. Their hearts were racing, thought they tried to keep calm and collected for the victims sake. That’s all he was, a victim.

Finally, they arrived at the room, one officer sneaking their way to the other side as they counted down to opening the door. The space was absolutely quiet, no one dared make a sound. The rain continues to pour restlessly and didn’t show any signs of stopping. Thunder rolled past, lightening sprang out occasionally and unexpectedly, but no one made a sound. And so, the count down began.

_5..._

 

_4..._

 

_3..._

 

_2..._

 

_1..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just read the most amazing book ever. It’s called ‘Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You’ and it’s just amazing. I totally recommend. Anyways, guess I’ll do a little week rap up. I had to put my cat down on Monday, I am devestated. Tuesday I played crap at soccer practice. Wendsday, fitness for soccer was absolutely awful. Thursday, I got called a ‘thing’ by two girls I don’t even know. Friday, I ate a really good banana muffin.
> 
> Also my friend wanted me to put this in so...
> 
> *Micheal Jackson appears*  
> “HE HE”  
> I’m sorry.
> 
> How you enjoyed, if you did please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc


	8. The Monster Dies In Every Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knows all the fairytales from Cinderella to King Threshbeard. He knows how most stories end, with a happy ending. The monster either dies or is punished and learns not to mess with the protagonist again.
> 
> Peter thought his rescue would be like a fairytale, and actually, he’s not that far off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all about to get what you’ve been waiting for ;)
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Suicide (not by any MAIN characters... you’ll see)  
> -Gun Violence  
> -Human Trafficking  
> -Mentions Of Rape/Non-Con  
> -*this is important* SLIGHT STOCKHOLM SYNDROME 
> 
> A disclaimer, Peter fell victim to both men AND women. Not just one gender, okay? Anyone can be cruel, anyone can hurt people.

Peter hadn’t expected this.

Not at all. He pictured his rescue as some heroic escape that he would plan for weeks and perfect until he had enough strength to fight his way out and finally go home. He would wait until he finally built up enough strength, break Ray’s neck and run as far away as his legs could carry him. He’d find help and maybe get some medical attention, notify Tony that he was okay and see his family again. Peter would rest and save up all his energy so he could escape and never look back. He would be ready.

Peter also hadn’t expected his plan to fail so early on. The first week of being chained to the bed was the worst of it. He kept telling himself that he would be okay and get out soon enough, but he kept pushing that escape day further and further away. The teen’s motivation was completely gone by the second week. He was tired at all hours of the day. The only way he could count the days was remembering when night fell on the city. And since he couldn’t see outside, he knew it was night by waking up with a body on top of him.

By the time the first month was over and done with, Peter had long since stopped counting. They days went by slow and painfully, and each night went even slower. There wasn’t a single night that passed where he didn’t wake up to either a man or women on top of him, regarding him.

Peter soon learned that he cost a fortune. Just over a hundred dollars. Ray said he cost a “fortune” but Peter didn’t think a hundred and twenty-five dollars was that much. Then again, it’s not like these people were paying for expensive clothes or shoes. They were paying to have sex with an underage, unwilling boy that couldn’t say no. 

Anyways, Peter had gotten used to a few different things over the past few months, and he wouldn’t admit that he was terrified of the consequences that followed not listening. The bruises, contusions and cuts littering his body was evidence enough that he was to listen to Ray and any client that entered the motel room. He’d do anything he was told to because Peter knew if he didn’t, he’d pay the price. Whether that be not being fed, beaten until he was nearly dead or belittled with hurtful words for hours on end.

The teen had gotten much smaller now. He was no longer muscle, and there wasn’t a single piece of fat anywhere on his body. Peter was skinny, just skin and bone, skin ashy and pale with dark circles surrounding his eyes. Tears stained his cheeks from the sheer amount he sobbed each day and night. The hero’s lips were chapped, peeling and flacking away from the lack of water. 

The bed was just as sticky as when he arrived. Even more so now, with so many different people’s body fluids (and his own, to his udder horror) that splattered around the mattress. It didn’t help that Peter was completely naked, and had been for months.

Ray was around quite a lot, but left him just as much. Though he was disgusted with himself, Peter found himself waiting with bated breath for the man to come back. Every time that door handle would turn he’d pray a thousand times over that it would be Ray walking through that door. Usually, it wasn’t, but that didn’t stop Peter from hoping.

Peter wanted to say he hated Ray with a passion, but a sick voice in his head said otherwise.

The man provided him with food, water, shelter and kindness- if you could even call it that. He would talk to the boy during the day, when Peter wasn’t fast asleep, dreaming of better times. It was never about anything specific, and the teen doubted the man ever remembered their conversations, but Peter did. 

It was the only true human contact he had in months, so he cherished it, even if it was from the person he should hate more than anyone. Peter should hate him more than the people that come in at night and pay to have sex with him for no longer than an hour. So, despite the fact that Ray had kidnapped him and forced him into this whole thing, he still rather see the man’s face than a strangers. Besides, without Ray, Peter wouldn’t even be alive right now. He wouldn’t have any food, so he’d starve to death, and before that, he’d die of dehydration. While he wasn’t given much food, it was still enough to survive.

The beatings were just to remind him not to disobey. So really, they were worth it. Peter now knew what not to do.

Such as:

Talk back, refuse to perform acts of paying clients, yell, talk when not spoken to, kick/punch/bite or ask for food or water.

There were at least a hundred more, but for the most part, Peter knew how to keep himself alive. Listen. Obey, and keep calm under pressure. It wasn’t hard to be compliant some nights. Sometimes, clients brought things in that made Peter’s life so much better for a few hours.

Peter learned it was ecstasy. He also learned to love it. The drug took the pain away, if only for a few hours at a time. It made Peter feel like someone was actually loving him, not using him for heir own personal benefits. It made him feel like he could enjoy whatever was happening even if he didn’t want it. Peter thought it made the whole act just a little bit better.

He knew what ecstasy was made for. It worked, and that’s all he had to say about that.

It became a craving. Peter needed it, day and night, every time a clients walked in and began the disgusting acts, he craved it. Just to take the edge off, just to make it a little better so he didn’t have to lay crying for days after. He could forget about it.

He knew it wasn’t love, but it sure as hell felt like love. Like he was being loved and praised in a disgustingly horrible way that he hated. Every word of praise that exited a clients mouth was like a stab to the heart. It made it sound like he was made for this and only this. Peter didn’t want to be good at this. He wanted to be their last resort (but that wasn’t true). Peter thinks, bleak and darkly, that it was better for him to be punished than anyone else. Small children were meant to frolic and have fun, not stay chained to a bed while being taken advantage of 24/7.

So, better him than anyone else.

He could handle it though, he was a hero. Peter was Spider-Man, confident and strong and able to take on bad guys three times his size and strength. He could beat up anyone with just the top of his pinky. Peter could handle himself. He didn’t need a man in an iron suit to come save him.

However, this way of thinking was soon seen as stupid in the eyes of Peter. He couldn’t escape or save himself. He was too weak, too small and scrawny to ever run away. Besides, Peter was meant for this, it would seem. He was meant to be taken from until there was nothing else to take because he could take it.

Peter could handle the beatings, and the drugging, and the touching, and the illnesses, and the constant stickiness, and the overwhelming sadness, and the dirty feelings, and the guilt. 

He could handle it. He would take it. It was what he was made for.

Anyways, Peter wasn’t focused on his feelings tonight. No, he was focused on Ray. The man was pacing, back and forth on the dirty, ripped up carpet in his bran new shoes he had just bought with the money earned selling Peter. The man looked worried, nervous in a way that didn’t fit a large and confident man like himself.

All of Ray’s anxiety was giving Peter Anxiety. He didn’t know what was happening, but at the same time, he didn’t really care. Everything had already happened so far. And if a man was about to walk in with a loaded gun aimed to kill them, well, Peter would be okay with that. There was nothing else to lose.

The man suddenly froze, cringed and let out a allow moaning sound and went towards the closet. He shuffled around while Peter looked around the room with empty, dark eyes. The teen could hear sirens, miles and miles away. Despite his strength being totally gone and his other powers not working at the moment, he could still hear sounds from at least ten miles away.

Which was why when he heard quiet footsteps creeping their way to the door, he too started to get nervous. Peter didn’t know what was happening- he never did. He was never allowed to know what was happening or have any say in what was happening. Peter was just there, and that was it.

Ray had pulled a gun from the closet, which he probably stored there when the two first arrived. He looked horrified, as if he had just murderer someone, and Peter thought bitterly that, he basically already had. The teen might as well have been dead. There was nothing left of him but dirtiness.

The man gulped, Peter started with uninterested eyes, though anxiety was bubbling inside him quietly. The boy stayed quiet though, as he was told to long ago. Peter remembered every rule e was taught. 

The feen could hear voices outside the door, focusing his attention on that instead of Ray, who had begun crying quietly, his hands shaking. The gun rattled with every shake, but Peter paid no mind. 

Someone was counting down, the teen realized. For what? He did not know.

_5..._

 

_4..._

 

_3..._

 

I wonder what’s happening, Peter thought, though his eyes held no interest or curiosity at all.

His arms were starting to cramp again. And his thigh bruises were starting to swell as they had all week.

_2..._

_1..._

 

A gun shot rang out, and Peter’s head snapped towards the area where Ray once was. Now, all that was left was his bleeding, dead body. The head exploded. Ray had shot himself.

At the same moment, the motel door swung open to reveal several large men dressed in officer uniforms, and at that, Peter’s body shrunk into a small ball and slammed against the backboard. The group looked at him for a short moment before the place went into hysterics. There was yelling and lots of movement going on at once.

Peter started to cry, absolutely terrified.

One of the cops that had barged in ran back out, yelling something to the group outside. Peter continued to cry and showed no signs of stopping. His eyes hurt, red and aggravated with angry red lines. The boy’s throat was aching something terrible, and his limbs were cramping and hurting all over.

Ray had shot himself, Peter thinks once more, crying even harder. How would he get anymore food? And what about water? And what about the people that brought him ecstasy- he was craving it, he wanted it. And now Ray was dead. No, no, he couldn’t be dead. If Ray was dead, Peter would surely die right after. Oh god, no he have lived for so long! He couldn’t die now! He was going to escape at some point, now he would die alone and tired. Always alone.

There were voices talking to him, telling him things that the boy didn’t care to listen to. The voice in his head reprimanded him- always listen. Listening will save you a beating. But no- Ray was dead. He couldn’t be beaten anymore. He deserved to be beaten, he was bad.

Peter missed Ray.

(He thought he did, at least.)

Next thing Peter knew, his arms fell to his side, loose, for the first time in over four months, he was free. The boy’s body immediately fell over so he was laying on his side. 

He would get in trouble for leaving the handcuffs.

Hopefully the beating would he slow and painful. Peter had been disrespecting and breaking rules left and right tonight and he really deserved to be beaten or drugged or something so he could know that he had done something wrong. But no! Ray was dead!

”No,” Peter moaned, attempting to roll his frail and battered body over. His voice was broken, breaking and crackly. A hand  rest on his hip. “No! No, no g-go, go ‘way!”

Someone was shushing him, quietly and comforting. Peter wanted to slap himself so hard. Harder than Ray ever did. How could he have snapped at the person who owned that hand? He knew that person.

It was Tony. It was Tony’s hand resting just above his hip- but not in any way Peter had been thinking. It wasn’t sexual- it comforting. Like a father’s touch, not like a monster’s. He had waited so long for this moment. To be touched- held by the only person he truly had left. To have that calloused hand on his skin, his face and cascading through his hair tenderly. 

Peter has the familiar need to lean into the touch. But he doesn’t.

No matter how much he’s telling himself that this is what he has been waiting for, that this is what he wants, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. It’s tempting though, the warm hand on his side. Peter wants to lean into the touch like a mother what’s nothing more than to coddle her baby, but he knows better. Tony would be ashamed of him. Tony would think he’s some whore who craved touch and needed to be please and be please- but no, Peter wasn’t a whore.  And he wasn’t going to let Tony think he was. He had already let down the man enough, Peter didn’t need to add ‘whoring himself out’ to the list.

The older hero’s thumb was moving, side to side against the boy’s hip in a comforting manner, though it was anything but comforting.

New tears slipped from the boy’s eyes. He was starting to get a headache that would no doubt turn into a Migraine. From the flashing police lights outside (he could see from the open door) and multiple voices talking at once, hurting his ear drums, there was no doubt in Peter’s mind he would pass out if it didn’t stop. Tony’s touch didn’t help any either, it was too much, to warm against the coldness of the room. To rough against the boy’s smooth, bruised skin.

Peter heard shushing again, over every other voice. The other notices drones out into a blurry mess of nothingness and a single voice rang out among the rest. It was prominent in his skull, bouncing of walls before Peter could actually comprehend what was happening.

”Okay, Peter, it’s going to be okay,” Tony muttered, quietly, in an attempt to comfort the boy, who had begun to shake with fear and anxiety. However, the man himself was also on the verge of panic. “Hey, listen, Bambi. Eyes on me,” Peter hadn’t realized that he had avoided Tony’s eyes this whole time, choosing instead, to look at the bare, beige wall. The boy’s eyes shook, head trembling as he glanced towards the man, who was leaving over the boy slightly with a smirk on his lips. Finally gathering enough courage, the genius teen turned his whole head to stare at Tony, using nearly all his energy.

For the first time in over four months, Peter spoke without being demanded.

”H-H-Hey-... hi- hey,” The boy’s lips barely parted, and his voice was far to hoarse and small compared to his usual bubbly and happy voice, but it was okay for now. Tony gave him a genuine smile- the first he had given since the boy had gone missing.

”Hey, Underoos,” Tony grunted, moisture forming in his eyes. “You with me, bud?”

”I-I, ye-yeah, I’m... I-I’m here- I’m good. Y-yeah, yeah I’m here, sir,” Peter hadn’t fallen Tony ‘sir’ for at least a year, at the fact that he used it now worried Tony more than anything else. More then the constant stuttering. The billionaire’s smile didn’t falter any, he was just happy Peter was speaking and paying attention.

”Good, good boy,” The boy lit up at the praise, lips opening to show his teeth, lips forming a watery smile that made Tony’s skin crawl. He ignored it though and continued to tell Peter what was about to happen. “The paramedics are coming, alright? My paramedics, my doctors. You still with me?” A small, shy nod. “Good, okay. I’ll be with you the whole time, we’ll get you back to the tower and you can see everybody else, okay? Does that sound good?”

Almost, Peter thinks to himself. It would be better, if he didn’t have to see anybody at all. The boy was no longer worthy enough to even breathe the same air as the Avengers. Tony shouldn’t be touching him.

But Peter can’t help but love the feeling of Tony’s hand on his skin. He had missed his father so much, his touch almost felt foreign after so long. After being touched and manhandled by stranger after stranger for four long months, the tender touch was different. Peter wouldn’t say it was calming, but it vertically was better than anything else that had come in contact with his skin. He tries to convince himself that each slap and kick was down for a reason. He had been bad, misbehaved, and therefor deserved to be punished. No food, no water, no warmth.

Peter wounding date speak out of turn to Tony. He wouldn’t dare say what he wanted because it wasn’t about him. No, it was Tony’s decision. Peter couldn't decide anything for himself anymore. That privilege had been stripped of him right along with his clothes.

So, he mumbled a quiet “okay” and Tony nodded firmly and turned to a female police officer across the room. The two exchanged in conversation before the woman left and it was just him and Tony left in the room.

”Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be out of here soon,” Peter believed, but isn’t say anything bad. He has nothing to say anyways. His throat hurt to bad to talk anymore and then...

It was quiet. So quiet that Peter could hear Tony’s heart beating fast. It was nice. Unsettling, but nice.

Peter started dumbly at the wall, the feeling of ‘numb’ washing over him in a quick second. Tony seemed to notice the sudden change in movement and direction, for he moved to the other side of the bed so he was right in front of Peter’s face on the floor, not sitting on the bed and leaning over him.

Surprisingly, Peter was the first to talk.

”He’s de-dead, isn’t he?” The boy whispered, eyes glancing towards the bloodied remains of Ray a few feet across the room. Stark grimaced, but answered him after a pause.

”Yeah, kid, he’s gone,” The father didn’t fail to notice his son’s facial expression fall at that sentence, but chose not to point it out right now. They had bigger fish to fry, so to speak. Once again, silence overtook the room and Peter went back to staring at the wall, noticing and  dark spot in the drywall. He focused on the spot, not on Tony’s hand in his cheek, trying to get his attention.

After a few more moments, Peter finally snapped his head back to loom at Tony, realizing he had failed to listen to the man. He had learned better. Peter shouldn’t be acting so stupid and reckless all of the sudden. He knew the rules.

”Time to go, Bambi, the ambulance is ready,” Peter nodded, not fazed by the way Tony back away from the bed with grief stricken eyes. The room was quiet once more, escort for the occasional talk among the paramedics. It was silent, until, all hell broke loose.

An unfamiliar hand went to touch him, to carry him into the stretcher. The touch was cold, and Peter remember’s that all doctor’s hands are cold for some odd reason. It didn’t stop him from screaming bloody murder at the touch.

He knew better than to yell, but he just couldn’t hold it back this time.

”No! Stop it, st-stop it! Go ‘way! Go-go away, I don’t- I don’t what to- no!” The boy’s sudden alarm seemed to catch the paramedics off guard, for the stood like frozen statues for a minute. Tony, on the other hand, ran to comfort his distressed son. Peter continued to scream, even as Tony held his hand and let the boy grip as hard as he could. Tony was disappointed to see that he could barely feel the teen’s grip. “Get off- go ‘way! Don’t what to- don’t want- it. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. I can’t- I can’t-“

”Shh... shh, Peter it’s okay, hun, okay? Yeah you’re fine, nothing’s happening, yeah? They’re just trying to move you, so we can go get you fixed up.”

Peter, however, didn’t listen, seemingly stuck in another world, most likely reliving the trauma he had been through. The boy trashed, and Tony hadn’t noticed one of the doctors coming around his shoulder with a syringe in his hand.  Next thing Tony knew, there was an injection in Peter’s under arm and the boy was slowing down. He continued to babble, however it was quieter now, more lazy.

Tony turned to the man.

”What did you-“

”Just something to calm him down. We can’t move him if he refuses to cooperate.”

Toby saw red. ‘Refusing to cooperate’? The kid was having a flashback of getting raped! It’s not like he didn’t want to comply, he simply couldn’t! The man mentally reminded himself to get that guy fired immediately. 

Peter’s limp form lay on the bed, though he was still awake. Those wide, empty eyes stared at Tony with such betrayal and... something else, the man cousins quite place. It was like the boy was waiting for something, expecting something to happen. The teen closed his eyes, but Tony knew he wasn't asleep. It was at that moment, Tony realized, Peter was used to being drugged. The boy was probably waiting for someone to do ‘that’ to him since he had been subdued. Peter was just waiting for someone to climb on top of him.

The paramedics were able to relocate Peter from the grimy, sticky he’d, to the cot, where they carefully brought him down the stairs and to the truck. It was still raining, but only drizzling now, which Tony supposed was good. That meant Peter wouldn’t get anymore wet or cold. A blanket had been laid over the boy, considering he was stark naked, but it was thin and didn’t provide much heat.

Tony could see the others waiting impatiently by the yellow police tape and he gave them a frown. That single expression seemed to dampen everyone else. They dropped like wilting flowers.

The ride to the tower was long, and Peter continued to lay with his eyes closed, even if he wasn’t asleep. Tony continued to hold the boy’s hand the whole ride, giving small squeezes every now and then to remind Peter that he was still there. It wasn’t raining in Queens, but there were still dark clouds looming in the sky. The paramedics offered to take Peter to a closer hospital, but Tony declined their offer. The boy needed to be checked out in his own home, where he could be comfortable.

He knew how much Peter hated hospitals.

Tony gave one last glance at Peter’s soft expression, taking in every bruise and scar, but mainly focusing on his soft skin and child-like features. With that, Tony copied Peter and closed his eyes.

But he didn’t fall asleep. 

Not when Peter couldn’t.

Then, as of the universe was trying to break Tony’s heart into millions of little pieces, Peter squeeze his hand back. The boy didn’t let go, he squeezed with all his might, with as much energy as he had, and started to cry. Not the loud, ugly cry he had when he was still in the wretched motel room, but a quiet cry that shower just how broken he truly was. The tears peaked from his eyes slowly and his mouth formed a grimace before low whining sound started to come from the boy’s mouth.

Tony was quick to comfort him.

”Hey, hey now, come on. You’re okay, you’re gonna be just fine, I promise,” The man hushed the boy, leaning to so they were eye to eye. The ambulance continued to bump along the highway on its way back to Queens, and the paramedic that was in the back with them said absolutely nothing. Peter continued to cry, letting everything come crashing down at once. “Peter I-“ Tony didn’t know what to do. He was at a loss and he didn’t know who to comfort the boy. He looked down for a moment before smiling and looking back up again. “Can I tell you a story? Do you wanna hear a story?”

Peter pauses his horrified cries and glanced at the man as fat tears tracked down his face. The boy nodded with what little movement he could still make with the drug coursing through his body. With Peter’s attention finally on him and not about what was going on around him, Tony took the time to tuck Peter’s small body around the blanket he was given. The boy mewled, curling to the side as much as he could with the restraints over him. Tony laid a hand in the boy’s hair and scratched his scalp slightly.

And so, he began the story.

”When I was younger, like six or seven,” The genius began, lightly cascading his fingers through Peter’s greasy hair. “I had a cat name Roopert, and he was a very old cat,”Tony sucked in a breath as Peter’s hand released its grip slightly, but continued anyways. “And I rarely saw him, but I knew he was sweet and my mother loved him. The only problem was, he wasn’t neutered. Can you imagine that? An eleven or so year old cat still not neutered!” 

Peter’s eyes were closing again, and this time, Tony could sense the boy’s nerves finally calming down, signaling he was faking asleep. The hero smiled, gracing his thumb over the boy’s forehead. Though he lips barely opened, the teen mumbled quietly:

”Then what?”

Tony chuckled lightly, eyes glancing towards the single paramedic that was trying her hardest not to listen in on their  private conversation. He would remember to give her a raise after firing the other guy. 

“So, we went to the vet one week, out of the blue, and got him neutered,” The story seemed insignificant to anything they were taking about, and had no correlation to what had just happened, but Tony thought the funny story would be enough to help Peter for now. At least the boy was falling asleep. “And when come back a few hours later and-... now mind you, this cat was extremely fluffy. Y’know that blanket in back at how. You love so much? He was even fluffier than that. Anyways, we come back and you wanna know what the first thing the vet said was?”

Peter nodded, though it looked more like one short, lazy nod that people did when they weren’t really committed to a conversation. Tony know, however, that Peter was listening, just to exhausted to fully answer.

”The vet, he goes, he tells us that Roopert was apparently a girl,” Tony didn’t fail to miss the small- almost unnoticeable- tweak of Peter’s lips as the story cake to an end. “We has lived with a cat all it’s life calling it a ‘he’ when it should I have been a ‘she’! I don’t know why I find that so funny, but I just do.”

Then, as if the universe was deciding to play tricks on Tony, Peter opened his mouth and talked with a hoarse voice that no one so young should have. 

“I got called a girl a lot,” The boy mumbled, eyes still closed, eyebrows furrowing together as memories of the past few months danced in his head. Peter looked troubled, more so than when he was sobbing in the motel room, and that scene had been straight from a horror novel. “I don’t know why. Girls are-... any girl could've been stronger than I was. I’m not a girl.”

The billionaire didn’t know how to reply, so he stared, wide-eyed at his son and waited for the boy to continue. When he didn’t, Tony took the liberty of finding something- anything- to say.

”No, you’re- uhm- not. You aren’t a girl Pete,” The man said, confused as to how that related to anything. Peter had never said anything about being called a girl before, so why mention it now? The man was at a loss for what to do, sat and feel. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing after all.

”They called me a girl, some of them,” Peter muttered as if it were obvious who he was talking about. Tony figured it out pretty quickly though. “I got called a pansy once. A faggot, a whore, a slut and a whole bunch ‘a other things.”

Tony growled low, not noticing the way Peter shyest away from the man’s hands after that, quivering slightly under the harsh lighting in the car. 

“You aren’t any of those things, Peter. Don’t believe anything those monsters told you, okay? You are perfect, you’re the best kid anyone could ever ask for-“

”No I’m not. I just cause trouble. You can- you can bring me back to the sex place. The motel room. ‘Is all I’m good for anyways.”

Tony glowered, face seeding red that someone had implanted such negative thoughts in his perfect boy’s head and corrupted him. They stole his innocence and left nothing but a shell left.

”Thats not true, Bambi and you know it. Okay? You’re fine, you’re gonna he just fine.”

”No I won’t.”

”I bet my entire company, life savings and retirement fund that you will be okay. Deal?”

”I don’t care.”

—————————————————————

The medbay’s lights were incredibly bright, but Peter was too afraid to ask for Tony to turn them down. So, he sat still shirk the fluorescent lights burned his eye balls until they were dry and in desperate need of moisture. 

Peter didn’t blink though. No, he just stared right on ahead while Tony and the doctor talked. He hadn’t been listening, and he wasn’t pretty sure he should have been, but it didn’t matter anyways. Most of the words flew right over his head, and he didn’t bother chasing after them. And so, the boy sat on the uncomfortable hospital cot for a few minutes, just alone with his thoughts while the two others talked. 

He thought about the motel room. He wanted to go back. The absence of the constant stickiness on his back was different, abnormal in a way, and Peter hadn’t figured out what the huge stain was on the wall. He still had three choices to choose from; blood, alcohol or semen. The boy bet on the last choice, but wouldn’t openly admit that he hadn’t seen the stain there until after a few days after he arrived. Meaning, the stain was created by something he did. Peter hoped it wasn’t semen, and if it was, he hoped it wasn’t his own.

Peter also missed the complete darkness that overtook the room during the day when Ray was out. The man would always close the curtains so no one cousin look in, and Peter cousins look out. It was nice, just sitting in the darkness for hours on end, because then, he court loon forward to seeing the sun on rare occasions. Like when someone opened the door during the day and let a small amount of light in and the boy got to look out and see the world he was missing. However, the silence was nice, especially after a long night.

The boy didn’t miss the strangers that came in in the dead of night. One after another they entered and exited the room after doing what they pleaded with the boy. Peter had to admit, some customers subjected him to some messed up shit they thought was hot. Personally, Peter didn’t think rape was sexy or hot (no one should, he reminds himself). However, as more weeks past the teen realized more and more that there was nothing he could do about it. Despite it being completely impossible, Peter did try to enjoy himself, though every time he tried, he always ended up feeling dirtier than earlier.

It wasn’t a feeling Peter enjoyed.

Tony continued to speak to the doctor, who was a women that the boy remembered from awhile back. Doctor Cho, if he remembered correctly. She as speaking now, but Peter couldn’t hear a thing. Instead, he heard all three of their heartbeats, all at different pace, sporadic.

Tony’s was slow. Calm, cool and collected, like the man usually was. Peter could tell he was internally having a pacifist attack.

The doctor’s was also slow, and Peter found no sign of nervousness from her at all. Her face was stony cold.

His own heartbeat was faster than usual, beating at a rate much higher than expected, as he was doing no physical activity at the moment. Peter figured it was the  nervous and anxiety finally getting to him.

Though the boy had been avoiding listening to the two adults talk, he finally zoned back in at the mention of his name.

”Peter will be given the choice to have a rape kit done, though it will be difficult to decipher each piece of DNA and catch every single person that had taken advantage of him,” Cho focused her attention back to Peter for a moment, eyes softening, voice lowering into a sweet, childlike resemblance. “Peter, honey, can you answer a few questions for me?”

Tony gave the woman a look but didn’t say anything, moving closer to the bed where Peter sat, resting a hand on his shoulder protectively. To his surprise, Peter answered positively, as if he didn’t care much about it. As if it didn’t hurt him to talk about it.

”Alrighty then,” The doctor muttered, shuffling proper woke in her hands and clipping them to her clipboard as he grabbed a black pen from her desk. “Let’s begin with something easy, okay?”

”’Kay.”

”Alright. How often were you able to take a shower/bath, or just able to clean yourself some way?”

”Never. Ray brushed- he brushed my teeth on the third week and that was it. I-I think.”

”Okay, good, good. Now, how often were you take outside?”

”Never.”

”Mhm... how often were you provided with food and water?”

”When I was good,” Peter mumbled, almost ashamed of himself for saying something that sounded so dumb. But it was true, if he was good- a good boy- he’d be rewarded with food and water and love. He’d be taken care of and shown compassion and care from Ray. He missed Ray.

”And what does that mean?” The doctor questioned with a high eyebrow.

”When I listened. Did-didn’t talk back to refuse to do something. When I got the client to pay extra for another hour because they- because they liked me. When I didn’t try to run away, or fight. I was a good boy- I was good.”

Peter could feel Tony’s hand grip his shoulder with bruising force, but the boy didn’t care one bit. He could practically feel the anger radiating off the poor man.

”Do you know any of the names of the people who assuaged and abused you?” Peter thought for a moment before answering with little confidence.

”No.”

”Alright, last one. Are you willing to do a rape kit so we can find out who hurt you and report them to the police?”

The air was thick for a moment, and Peter wondered if the air condition was running anymore because the room suddenly got hotter. 

Spekaing of air conditioned, there wasn’t one in the motel room, which was one down side to the small, shit-covered room. Luckily, the teen wasn’t smothered in blankets and was completely naked for the whole four months. So, he was never overly hot or anything. Some days, it would get colder, but others left him sweating profusely.

Oh. Right. She had asked him a question.

”No.”

That answer seemed surprise Tony more than anything else.

”Peter are you sure you don’t want to-“

”No. I’m okay.”

And so, Peter was told to stay in the bed with Tony, and he did. Because Peter was a good kid, and was willing to listen so he wouldn’t get punished like he did back with Ray. Who knows? Maybe after four months Tony suddenly became some power-hungry abusive asshole.

But Peter knew better than to think that. Tony had saved him from the horrific mess. Without him, Peter would still be in that god awful room rotting away while being raped 24/7. Tony saved Peter...

Because Peter was to weak to save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I actually love you all so much and I just wanted to take a moment to tell you all. Like seriously, you all mean the world to me and since I inspire to be a journalist and (hopefully) an author when I get older, seeing all the nice comments makes my heart flutter. I smile at every comment knowing you guys like the story.
> 
> I love you all so much! <3
> 
> If you enjoyed, please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc


	9. If Actions Spoke Louder Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If actions spoke louder than words, than Peter may as well have been writing a novel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo everybody! Thanks for all the support on this story, it makes me so happy! :)
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> -Mentions Of Human Trafficking  
> -Signs Of Conditioning  
> -Mentions Of Abuse
> 
> *PLEASE READ*  
> If you have a problem with like extreme Stockholm Syndrome, then don’t read this chapter. Once again, this chapter is based off of a documentary I watched on human trafficking so almost everything that is mentioned is how some survivors felt. Obviously, their true feelings towards their capturers is different but the mental abuse and conditioning could effect them. Read at your own risk.

Peter slept under the bed that night.

Despite Tony’s please for him to climb out and cuddle under the blankets, the boy refused. The father thought that maybe it had something to do with the boy’s inner spider instincts. Like how a tarantula burrows into the dirt and waits in the cool darkness. However, the two were still in the Medbay, Tony, laying on the hard hospital cot, Peter laying on the cold, unforgiving tile floors.

Tony laid still on the bed, face up as he stared at the ceiling, a numb feeling washing over his body in the same way he felt when Pepper was gone for business trips and wasn’t in bed next to him. An overwhelming loneliness settled over him and the sudden urge to cry filled him in an instant.

However, he knew no matter how lonesome he felt, Peter felt a thousand times worse. The boy stayed under the bed, eyes settling down where the crotch of his pants were. This was his first night without being interrupted and taken advantage of. He felt weird. There should be someone standing over him, mumbling terrible things into his ear while their hands roamed his unwilling body. There should be a musty smell in the room. The bed should be sticky, and Peter’s body should be covered in blood and semen and vaginal liquids. As disgusting as it sounds, he shouldn’t be laying under the hospital cot while Tony tried to sleep above him. No, he should be back in that hotel room, offering himself to any person that walked through that door.

No matter how much he fucking hated it.

Peter thought about Ray. He thought about all the times the man said he would fuck him all night long. That never happened. Well, not all night long at least. The boy assumed Ray commit suicide because of the guilt. He had raped Peter the fourth week of being in captivity. It wasn’t the worst session, Peter had to admit, but it was getting harder and harder to see the man everyday after that. But at the same time, Ray loved him. Maybe not loved, but he definitely liked Peter. That’s what Peter thought at least. The man brought him food and pet his head every morning and occasionally (it only happened once), Ray would come with a cloth and wash down the boy’s body.

Peter remembers that day. There was an important client coming that night. He was willing to pay lots and lots of money for more than five hours alone with the boy.

The teen remembers his name.

Joseph McLough. The man told Peter to call him Joe, and the boy did. He came in with a nice tailored suit with no tie. He was short and a little hefty and if Peter saw him walking the streets, the boy wouldn't think he was capable of this. Joseph was rough, and mean.

Peter swore he’s seen that man’s face before. Somewhere. Despite being raped straight into the creaky mattress all night, Peter thought about the man. He admired his facial features, the suit he was wearing and the sound of his voice. Peter knew him and knew him very well.

A business partner of Tony’s, the man’s friend.  The boy thought it was odd how someone who seemed so normal- an everyday citizen- could be capable of rape, of literally buying someone for sex.  Peter didn't spend much time dwelling on that idea, seeing as though this whole thing was as much his fault as it was anyone else. Maybe he shouldn't have been taken that night. If he had just trusted his gut and went to Tony, he would have been okay. He would never have been subjected to the horrors of whatever that was. He would have gone home and eaten Half-Baked, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream with his dad and Pepper while having a movie marathon all night long. He would have been to school all those months, learned new things and hung out with friends.

Peter would be sleeping on the bed, not under it.

Speaking of school, Peter didn't want to go back. The teen remembers a time when he was excited to wake up and get ready to go and see his friends, even if he did have to deal with bullies. It was worth it. He would spend the night before picking out an outfit because the anxiety of looking bad would claw at him. But after he was organized, it would all melt away and the excitement of seeing Ned and MJ was back and raging louder than the anxiety and fear. And he'd realize by the end of the day that it didn't matter what he wore and he'd promise himself he'd stop obsessing over it, but by the end of the night he was raiding his closet for decent clothes.

It didn't matter anyways, he always ended up in a hoodie and jeans every day.

Now, he couldn't even think about going back to school. Peter knew how students treated others who had already lost their virginity, and the fact that Peter had literally whored himself out was humiliating. The fact that he thought that was all he was good for was even worse. God, he should just kill himself now. He was disgusting, and no amount of showers and washing his mouth out with soap could ever wash away the complete dirtiness that caked his body. It was all over him, all the time. It would never go away until he died.

Until he died. Until he was dead. Dead. He could kill himself.

Peter's inner monologue was swiftly cut off by Tony's cracking voice from above him. The teen thanked God that Tony wasn't literally on top of him, like the strangers he woke up to were. He loved Tony and he didn't need to love or trust anyone else. Including himself. His father would keep him safe (but not the same way Ray did by bringing him food and water occasionally, or washing him off with a damp cloth).

"Peter," The man muttered, and the boy didn't need to see the man's face to know his mouth had barely moved. Tony was tired, he needed to sleep. Peter was exhausted, but didn't want to sleep. The teen couldn’t see Tony, but he could hear he man gulp and envision his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Tony spoke once again. “You know you can- you can sleep up here. I can leave if you want.”

Peter doesn’t answer right away. He knows he should be listening and focusing on Tony’s words but another, more interesting idea, has caught his attention. He hasn’t brushed his teeth in over four months. The sudden need to scrub his teeth until they bled overcame him, and the boy slowly began to removed himself from his little hidey-hole under the bed. This action caused Tony’s wondering eyes to latch onto the moving teen, who appeared to be on a very serious mission. The older man jumped from the cot, nearly tripping himself in the process. 

“Hey- wait! Kid!” The billionaire called after his son in a weak attempt to catch Peter’s attention. The boy did not answer.

Meanwhile, Peter’s mind had already begun it’s tirade against the boy’s self-esteem and worthiness. Even before this whole thing happened, the teen had trouble with low self-esteem and the need to be perfect in every way possible. Peter would be lying if he said he hadn’t gone a day without starving himself, or waking up in the middle of the night to work out. The boy never made it anything though. It wasn’t an eating disorder- and he would repeatedly tell himself that. Soon, the old bad habit of looking at himself in the mirror and berating himself went away. Peter was far to busy to think lowly of himself.

Peter finds himself in the doorway of the bathroom in the small Medbay room, but he doesn’t go in. It was almost like his legs were glued to the floor and there was nothing strong enough to pry his barefoot feet of the cold tile. He didn’t know why his body had just suddenly stopped working, and he actually didn’t care.

It had happened. He needed to get over it.

So, he walked into the bathroom. The teen glanced at the sink, seeing no signs of a toothbrush or any dental tools to aid him in scrubbing off the dirtiness that settled in his mouth. Tony stood at the doorway, waiting for his son to make a move. Then, as if heaven was just trying to continuously break the billionaire’s heart, Peter looked at Tony with eyes that held nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The glimmer of joy and hope that once shined so damn bright in that kid’s eyes had burned out. Peter’s usual caramel eyes that were sprinkled with golden flakes were reduced down to nothing but a weak coffee color. They were glassy, like rain coating a windshield during a drive around the city. Tony never believed that thing about someone’s eyes telling stories, or holding emotions. That was all to cheesy. However, looking into Peter’s eyes now, the man was starting to believe the absurd idea. Tony expected Peter to look away after awhile, but the boy did not. He just kept looking at his father with those dark eyes that were telling him stories. The way they looked into Tony’s eyes gave the man enough evidence to say his son was never going to be the same. The boy’s figure was straight, his back refusing to curve even as his legs wobbled from exhaustion. His pupils wobbled slightly and Tony could tell the boy was trying to hold in tears.

It was silent, and Tony (being Tony) envisioned this moment in a dramatic television show, where sad music would play in the background. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable though. But Tony wouldn’t say it was a nice, peaceful silence either. The two continued to stare into each other’s eyes before the older man spoke was more.

And even though he knew he would regret it, the man began to cut through the silence.

”Stop looking at me like that,” Tony demanded, though there was no malice or hatred behind hidden in his voice. The genius didn’t know why he said it, and he sure as hell regretted it, but instead of apologizing, he waited for a response. 

Peter didn’t look like he was ready to answer that, but something inside him forced his jaw open and said  _speak._

”I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Peter muttered, barely heard by the older man. It was true, the two haven’t seen each other in months. And even if four months didn’t seem long, it felt like years for both occupants. A lot can happen in four months. “I almost forgot what you looked like.”

Tony was half-expecting for Peter to smile because his last sentence almost sounded like a joke. However, when the boy just stared into the man’s eyes once more, the billionaire felt his confidence fall. The fact that it hadn’t been a joke just about did it for Tony. The man felt his cool exterior break away as his own eyes filled with tears until they matched Peter’s moist eyes.

”I-...” The man’s voice cracked, his throat closing as his back slouched slightly and the tears that threatened to escape earlier went cascading down his cheeks like tiny rivers. Tony didn’t speak again, he couldn’t. He wanted to hold Peter- to hold him and never let go from anyone or anything. But that was impossible. Peter looked at his hand like a loaded gun ready to shoot. Actually, he looked at everyone’s hands like that now. 

The rest of the team had yet to visit the two, knowing well that the boy wasn’t ready to see everyone at once. Peter couldn’t have cared less.  He was numb.

Peter spoke again.

”I just wanted to look at you,” The genius teen said with a small voice, thin, pale arms coming to loosely wrap around his middle. Like a “one-man hug” of some sort. And maybe it could have just been his imagination, but Tony  swore he saw a spark in Peter’s eyes, as if they kid was remembering an old, happy memory. Little did he know, that was exactly what Peter had been thinking about.

A time when life was simpler, and far more fun to live. Well, maybe not that much more fun, actually.

_Peter supposed ending a bad day with the same attitude as starting a bad day was no way to live life. There was a difference between the fact that you hadn’t felt right that day, and still not feeling right by the end of the day. The bright, cheery boy that Peter was, thought that if all you thought about were the bad things that could happen, nothing good would come out of it._

_Now, he says that’s all bullshit._

_The day started out relatively normal. Not. First, his alarm clock sounded, and now, that may sound cliche, but that extra five minutes that Peter slept in cause him to be late for his first period class. Breakfast was fairly uneventful... before May burst through her bedroom door, scaring Peter, which caused the full bowl of cereal to slip from his hands as his spider instincts told him to run and hide. What better place to ‘run and hide’ then the ceiling! To say May was a little freaked would be an understatement._

_The subway was crowded, more so than usual. There had been a huge pileup of cars on the main road so people were taking the train to attempt to get on work on time._

_Despite having the DNA of a spider, Peter hated closed off spaces. For obvious reasons. He had to stand in between a man and a women. The lady was talking obnoxiously loud on the phone, constantly spitting on Peter as she talked about this and that. Her hands flailed about wildly and even nicked the boy on his cheek, yet she didn’t let out any sort of apology. Peter wasn’t even sure she knew she did it._

_The man wasn’t as bad, in Peter’s opinion. However, he did smell like someone who had a bad case of sweaty feet. He was a little hefty, but Peter didn’t judge. The teen had problems with weight himself... just on the other end of the spectrum._

_Let’s just say the cereal would have gone to waste whether or not Peter had dropped the bowl._

_Anyways, Peter was completely surrounded by all sides, and for a brief moment, Peter wondered if someone were to stab him, which way would the knife come from? The back would be funny- like he was literally being stabbed in the back. Peter found it funny, anyways. But apart from the obnoxious lady and the smelly man, the ride wasn’t that bad. School, on the other hand, was a different story. Literally hundreds of people were out because of the flu, and Peter was not about to be the next victim. Ned wasn’t there and, unfortunately, neither was Mj._

_But because of damn ‘Parker Luck’, Peter’s arch enemy was there: Flash Thompson. ‘Arch enemy’ may be a bit dramatic, it was more like a bully because Peter really had nothing against Flash. The kid was just out to get the hero for some unknown reason. Now, Eugene has never been as cruel to Peter as he was this awful day. No, today, something snapped inside of him and he just had to take it out on Peter._

_Peter applauded whoever said that words hurt more than any physical pain did- they were so right. Every cruel name that left Flash’s mouth had Peter breaking in the inside. It was all too much. Especially on a day like this._

_An array of words were used, some of which Peter didn’t even know Flash knew. The boy stood still as a statue by his locker as the wealthier boy ranted on and on about things Peter was to humiliated to even repeat. Needless to say, a crowd gathered around while Flash berated the other teen._

_It didn’t let up for the rest of the day, and soon, Peter began to believe all the things Flash was saying to him. Things to disgustingly cruel for Peter to say._

_By the end of the day, when Peter was making his way to Tony’s tower for lab work, he stopped halfway. It was dark out, only the streetlights illuminating the abandoned road. And, god, Peter couldn’t take it anymore. The teen crumbled to the sidewalk, knees scrapping against the rough, cold concrete as he buried his face in his hands and let out a wretched sob. His cries continued until it physically hurt to cry anymore._

_Then, it was silent. Until it wasn’t._

_”You done kid? It’s cold as fuck out here and I’d feel much better if you cried over a mug oh hot chocolate, not a dirty sidewalk,” Tony’s voice rang out through the silent street. Peter hadn’t even realized the man had arrived, let alone heard the car drive up or anything. The man wore a large, warm over coat, scarf and a small yet comforting smile on his face. The teen didn’t answer, instead, he looked back down at the dirt covered walkway and downcast his eyes. Peter could feel Tony’s steps approaching, let alone hear them._

_Suddenly, a big, warm hand rest itself on Peter’s shoulder, causing the boy to look at his mentor’s kind face. Peter glanced back down, fiddling with a hangnail on his pointer finger. The kid knew what was coming next._

_Tony’s arms wrapped around him from where the two were sitting on the concrete. The billionaire sat behind the boy, Peter’s back leaning into the man’s chest. Tony hugged boy close to his chest and Peter didn’t hug back, but Tony didn’t mind. The boy was limp, empty, sad eyes looking at the ground as they filled with another round of tears._

_The boy cried- sobbed- for another hour, and all Tony did was hold him and shush and coddle him._

_And that was all Tony needed to do._

Peter wanted a hug. Desperately. He wanted Tony to hold him and run his calloused hands through his hair and stuff his scratchy beard into the boy’s scalp and just cuddle him for hours. The teen wanted to be held in a comfortable bed, his face trapped in the warmth of Tony’s neck. 

Tony doesn’t look like he wants that, Peter thinks to himself as the older man turns from the bathroom opening. Away from Peter. Amongst the million thoughts racing in Peter’s head, only one truly stood out.

He’s to disgusted to look at you, Peter wonders, realization dawning on him that Tony thought he was dirty and to nasty to even look at. All those tears that were held in Peter’s eyes made good on their threat to fall and quickly raced down his cheeks and onto the floor. He hates you, Tony hates you, Peter convinces himself without a second thought. Peter wanted to throw up.

Despite his mind screaming at him to stop and look at the facts, Peter opens his mouth and asks for the one thing he knows Tony doesn’t want.

”C-Can... can I have a-a hug? P-Please,” Peter sounds downright desperate and he knows it. Tony swerves around, red eyes just about popping out of his head, sweat dribbling down his forehead as he tried to pull himself together. He hasn’t expected Peter to ask him for anything even remotely related to physical contact- especially a hug.

”Do you want a hug?” Tony asked, as if Peter hadn’t just begged him to do so. The man wasn’t trying to be condescending or funny, it was just such an odd request after what had just happened over the past few months.

Or, maybe it wasn’t.

”Yes. I want a h-hug.”

”Okay.”

Tony didn’t approach the smaller boy, just opened his arms slightly. Peter hesitated for a moment, calculating eyes drifting over the older man’s hands, as if searching for any sign of treason. However, as the boy observed each limb, he found nothing but the same hands he missed coursing through his hair. The same hands that could create brilliant inventions out of nothing but scrap metal and a screw driver. The same damn hands that held him late at night when he had a nightmare and couldn’t stop crying.

How could he mistrust thoughts hands? God, could he be any more of a bad son?

Tony must hate him.

Peter, not seeing anything wrong with his father’s hands that might suggest something bad, rushed forward as fast as his malnourished body could take him. Practically jumping into Tony’s arms, the body clung to his father’s body, thin arms linking together and squeezing with such force, the billionaire could barely breathe.

(That wasn’t true. Peter was far to weak now, to even hurt Tony. But if the boy apologized for hurting Tony, even if he really didn’t, the man would accept his apology so the boy didn’t think he was weak at all).

The boy let his head rest nicely beside the older man’s arc reactor, taking in the cool light that illuminated the small, dark room. Tony, stunned, took a moment to gather himself before holding the boy, strong arms coming to the boy’s back- one on the back of his head, one on his lower back. Tony didn’t fail to notice the small flinch that followed the movement, but he didn’t say anything because the boy soon relaxed once more, gripping he man even tighter. It was like holding the brightest ball of joy in your arms, even if Peter wasn’t necessarily happy right now. 

The billionaire hunched down some to better accommodate the smaller human, and soon, he felt Peter’s cold face bury itself deep in his neck, breathing in he warmth and cologne.

Peter had missed his dad’s cologne. It was always just one of those things that certain people had- a specific smell that let you know who they were. Ned smelled like his house, Windex and bleach and other cleaning supplies. Mj smelt of the beach for some odd reason, but the girl had once told him she used a shampoo called ‘Ocean Breeze’ and he supposed that’s why. Happy always smelled like rubber, but it wasn’t a bad smell at all, it reminded Peter of the gym, and he loved the gym. Steve smelled like pie crust, oddly enough. Clint, like cardboard. Natasha smelled like a very faint perfume, and Peter loved it. Bruce smelled like coffee, and it was a very nice, comfortable smell that often calmed the boy down. Thor usually smelled like sweat, but occasionally he would use Peter’s green apple shampoo and then proceed to smell like just that. Pepper smelled like Natasha, a very faint perfume smell, but it was slightly different. 

Peter hoped he didn’t smell bad, but deep down, he knew he did. He had yet to take a shower since he got home, choosing to sleep instead.

Tony didn’t care though, and proceeded to snuggle his face deep into Peter’s greasy curls, breathing on the scent of something all to familiar to Tony during his playboy days, unfortunately.

That scent alone had Tony sobbing into Peter’s head, realizing the sheer disgustingness of what had just happened to his sweet baby. Tony always promised to protect him, no matter what, but it was too late for trivial promises like that. The younger of the two seemed surprised at his father’s sudden outburst, almost pulling away at the instant change. 

Tony has an epiphany. 

Peter had... Peter had powers. Even if he was weaker than usual or hadn’t eaten, the boy was still stronger than most men. And Tony wasn't blaming Peter for any of this- defiantly not! The man was just curious as to what had happened that had Peter so scared to break out. Tony knew that, obviously, if Peter was scared, he would freeze or not be able to think as well if he was confident. The boy had never been in a situation like this before, so he probably hadn’t known how to act. So, no, Peter could not have fought back even though he was the strongest kid Tony knew.

Because Peter was a human (at least mostly), and humans can get scared, they can freeze and not know what to do. 

“You’re okay now, Peter. Okay? I promise, everything will be just fine,” Tony whispered, lips forming to lay a gentle kiss on the boy’s head despite his greasy hair. Tony would run his hands through Peter’s hair all day long, no matter what state it was in. “You’re okay.”

”I want to brush my teeth,” Peter muttered, completely disregarding the older man’s comforting words. Although it has seemed that Peter hadn’t even heard his father, Tony knew the boy did and had absorbed every word. Peter trusted Tony, so he trusted what the man said. He would be okay.

”Alright, alright. You wanna brush your teeth? Well you’re in luck kiddo cause I keep a pack up extra toothbrushes and all that jazz under the sink,” Tony pulled back from the hug a big, smile- a real smile this time- down at his incredible son, wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks. Peter unconsciously leaned into the hand, letting the warmth envelope him in a hug that felt just so damn good. Despite Tony’s smiling, a tear raced down his cheek. A tear that Peter’s eyes followed down his cheek and onto the floor. He made Tony cry. “I’ll buy you all the fucking toothbrushes you want.”

”I want-“ Peter shut his mouth for a moment, eyes spacing out until Tony was sure the boy wasn’t in their world anymore. The older man placed his two hand son the boy’s shoulders in a faint attempt to ground him Incase a panic attack started. To his surprise, the small boy recovered far quicker than he had during other panic attacks. “I want two toothbrushes.”

”Then two toothbrushes you shall get.”

”Thank you, Tony. Thank you so much... for everything. Thank you for taking me out of that place- thank you. I-I couldn’t have lasted much longer in th-there,” Tony knows this is true. The state they found the boy in was-... well, let’s just say Peter really shouldn’t be walking right now. Peter didn’t look like he was going to cry, but he sure as hell did look thankful, and in desperate need of a toothbrush.

”I know, Bambi,” Oh, Peter missed that nickname. Despite Peter being very, super manly, Bambi was still a very cute nickname. But don’t get it twisted, Peter was still very manly- high pitched voice and all. “I’m glad we got you out too,” The man’s smile fell silently. “I’m just sorry it took so long to do so. It was- It was like you just fell off the face of the Earth. We couldn’t find you anywhere and we had almost run out of options. We had Wanda and Vision come back and we fucking found you. Did I- it was hard. Someone died because of us.”

”I’m sor-“

”No! No, you will not say sorry, okay? Listen kiddo,” Tony pauses for a moment to regain his breath, blinking rapidly for a moment before exhaling loudly with a groan. “I know all of his may seem like it’s your fault, but I’m telling you, right now, Peter it was not your fault.”

That seemed to effectively shut Peter up, not that Tony wanted the boy to stop talking. Tony knew nothing about what happened in that room. To the billionaire- it was rape. But he didn’t know the extent of it all. He wasn’t in that room, he didn’t know what went on when that door closed. Tony didn’t know what was said, or what actions had been taken. It had been Peter’s fault. It just had to have been because no one else would have been stupid enough to drink a drugged soda, get kidnapped and participate in a non-consensual road trip to another city. A city- he might add- so crime ridden, that Peter almost didn’t want to run away in fear that there may be something more dangerous out there then what came into the room.

Peter was good for only one thing. So he stayed, and he stopped fighting after the first month. That was his decision. That was his fault. 

He didn’t enjoy it. He’ll admit to that cause there was no way in hell anyone- female or male- could enjoy being held down and taken advantage of. There was just no way. Peter hated every single person that came and went, but he didn’t care enough to do a rape kit and see who the fuck abused him. There was just no point. 

Over four months in captivity.

That’s just about a hundred and thirty days.

Five people per night.

Every night.

Just over six hundred people walked through that oak door and went home to their families and kissed their wife or husband hello, put their kids to bed and didn’t think twice about what they had done. Or maybe they just went back to their lonesome lives and went on to the next person who’d except money for sex. The dirty low-lifes.

Too many people to count.

It just wasn’t worth it.

_”You don’t even deserve a name!”_

Peter wasn’t worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just uploaded this chapter without putting an end note smh... anyways... thank you so much for all the support on this story! I love all of you so much and I really need some kind words cause I’ve been feeling kinda depressed lately and haven’t been sleeping well. So thank you so much- all of you! I love you all so much.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc


	10. A Cigarette After Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter always found it odd that in those movies he’d sometimes watch with Tony (the kind where May would put her hands over his eyes during certain scenes), the people who had just finished fucking would smoke a cigarette in bed. 
> 
> Then, he realized that smoking after sex made everything feel slightly better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, welcome to another chapter! For those of you who are wondering, I’m thinking about making this story around 20 chapters long. Not to short, not to long :) So stay tuned for more chapters!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Indication of Rape/Non-Con (not directly said)  
> -Underage Drug Use  
> -Lots of offensive language

When Tony walked in to the hospital-like room, the rest of the team hot on his trail, Peter hadn’t even noticed they walked in. The boy had made himself busy trying to rip off a nasty hangnail on his thumb and didn’t even hear the heroes come in.  

Peter was laying on the bed, not under it, and Tony took that as a huge win. And ever since last night, the young boy had grown accustomed to Tony hugging him and scratching his head and holding his hand- another win. And the good thing was, Peter wasn’t just tolerating the friendly touches, no, he was happy to have them. Ecstatic, even, to finally have a kind, warm touch to drag him away from the awful memories of room two-ten. Tony was surprised at first, to see his son willingly grab the older man’s hand that morning, squeezing hard and shutting his eyes tight.

The young hero looked quite focused at that pesky hangnail, nose scrunching up, eyes narrowing as he continuously failed at trying to chew the damn thing off.

Tony smiled.

He had brought over a few books and games for Peter to use if he ever got bored, however, the boy chose other activities to keep himself occupied until he was able to leave the medbay. Such as: waking around the room, sleeping, and even chewing his nails down to the skin (though Tony demanded he stop). When the mutant widow lay down and stare at the ceiling for hours, Tony laying beside him, he’d keep his arms over his head, leaning to the right side. The same side his arms were handcuffed to the bed on.

Tony didn’t mention it, he knew better. Seeing Peter sitting criss-crossed on the bed brought a warm smile to the man’s lips. He held his hand low, signaling for the others to stop.

It barely worked though, the others were very eager to see their young teammate. Especially after not seeing him for so long. Four months may not seem long to most- but for the team, it felt like four long years. The engineer saw a sad smile grace Natasha’s lips, and Tony knew she might cry (which she would never do in any other situation). Steve looked worried, like he always did, as if Peter were just going to poof away if he got to close- his eyes were glossy. Bruce looked around the room nervously, taking in the room and making sure everything was comfortable for Peter, before allowing his eyes to settle on the boy himself- a tiny, almost non-existent grin presenting itself. Clint has that “Nervous Father” look on his face and just like Steve, he looked like he thought Peter was going to be taken again. Thor was frowning, but Tony could tell that seeing Peter had instantly filled the god with happiness and that frown would soon turn into a smile.

Bucky, Sam, Wanda and Vision were not welcome to the visit. Tony figured to only let the people Peter trusted and new the best into the room. In a few days, the others could meet him. Tony figured to only to let the people Peter trusted and new the best into the room. 

Pepper and Rhodey were away for the week, but were eager to see the boy once they got back.

”Hey, Underoos,” The older man muttered, effectively gathering all the boy’s attention, though his fingers still fiddled with the painful piece of dead skin. At first, his face punched together in fear and worry, but a moment later, it was replaced with relief. It was only Tony.

And five other people holy shit.

The sight of new people so close nearly had Peter reeling back in fright, a voice in his head screaming at him that these were strangers. He knew what happened when strangers entered the room.

But... but these weren’t strangers, Peter realized. This was his family. This was Bruce and Steve and Clint and Nat and Thor. These were his friends- not strangers to please. No, Peter would never have to do anything he didn’t want to do with these people. That’s why he loved them so much. He trusted them. However, he still found himself following their hands- just in case they decided to pull something. He was free now, he could fight them off. Well, maybe not. He was still just a weak kid. And besides, sex was all he was good for anyways.

”O-Oh, uh,” Peter thought for a moment, wide eyes observing each worried face, not sure what to do or say. “H-Hi? Hey.”

Tony advanced and Peter visible tenses before relaxing once more at the realization that it was just his father. No one scary.

”Hey, bud. Look who came to visit you,” Peter kinda of wished Tony would stop talking to him like a child, but at the end of the day, he like it. Tony was just worried and didn’t want to scare the boy. So, yeah, it was okay. Besides, Peter had acted like a child while I’m that motel room. Scared, small and stupid. “Nat even made you a sandwich but if you don’t want it we can make you something else.”

It was true. Peter hadn’t realized until now that his pseudo spider-mom was holding a plate. On top stood a small sandwich, made just the way he liked it. Was he hungry though? Well, yes, obviously. But, was it time to eat yet?

”What- what day is it?” Peter asked sporadically, clearing his throat directly after and glancing at the white sheets of the cot. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Tony, however, has no problem answering.

”Its Friday, Peter.”

Friday. That meant he could eat.  Looking at the food in Nat's hand, Peter gave a harsh puff of air through his nose- like an angry bull would when staring at the antagonizing face of a matador. He wasn't angry though, he was just frustrated. The kid wanted the food, and he could take the food and eat it wish his own two hands. Ray didn't have to hand feed it to him this time. That thought frightened him for some odd reason. The fact that he was no longer dependent on another human being to do basic human functions, such as: eating, drinking and going to the bathroom (which was probably the most humiliating part of the whole experience. He had been subject to worrying whether or not Ray would be back in time to feed him, or what would happen if he wet the bed because he just couldn't hold it any longer.

But being free also meant he didn't need to eat on a specific day. Who cared if it was Friday? he could eat whenever he felt like it, damn it. That idea brought a chill through his spine. Who knew freedom could be so scary?

Natasha, being the wonderful woman that she was, spoke in her soft, cool voice and plastered a smile on her perfect, golden face.

"Is it okay if I come over to sit with you,  _vozlyublennaya_ _?"_ The assassin asked, her voice turning to pure gold as she spoke in her native language. God, he had missed her little nicknames. Especially when she said them in Russian. It was like pure silk running through your ears and wrapping gently around your brain. Hearing the friendliness and comfort in her voice allowed for Peter to feel confident enough to say-

"Yes. Yes you can sit."

The smile that lit up her face just happened to spread to Peter's, which then spread to every other occupant in the room. Peter hadn't seen her in so long, just looking at that brilliant red hair had him nearly crying. In fact, looking at everyone's features had him ready to get up and give each one of them a big ol' hug! But he didn't. Because despite how much he wanted to welcome them back into his life- he knew they were bigger than him, stronger then him and could easily pin him to the ground and- and...

Nothing. They wouldn't do anything to him. What an awful teammate he was- thinking they could be as horrible as the strangers back in room two-ten. Never.

Nat settles herself down to the shaking boy, smiling kindly as she laid the plate on the cot. Peter sent her a Tony smile of thanks before slowly grabbing the meal. During this time, the others gathered around the small bed but not sitting to close in case Peter felt suffocated. The boy didn’t notice the sudden  hangs in position, and if he did, he simply didn’t care. Peter had been squished into mattresses, stomped on, and squeezed profusely over the last four months.

This? This was nothing. 

Peter are in silence, taking small, slow bites until at least a third of the sandwich had been devoured. The teen placed the food back down, licking his lips slightly and leaning back, holding his hands on his knees so he didn’t fall backwards.

“Okay.”

”That’s it? You’re done?” Clint muttered, cool eyes staring calculatingly at the skinny boy. Surely Peter was hungrier than that. The archer’s parental instincts had kicked in almost immediately upon entering the room- and seeing Peter way so little was triggering them immensely. The teen looked up, eyes watery and wide.

Yes, Peter was done. Why would Clint question him? He hd indicated that he was finished with the meal. The boy was full and would remain that why until next Friday-

No. He would remain full for another few hours, before he had to eat again. Not for a full week. Peter could eat whenever he wanted now, he didn’t have to wait. Of he wanted a piece of cherry pie, he’d have a piece of cherry pie, god damnit. 

But, he didn’t what pie right now. Because, as good as that sandwich was (god bless Natasha and her amazing skills), it had made his mouth quite dry. So, for now, the only thing he craved was a nice cool glass of water. However, he knew better than to get his hopes up for that. The only whet he deserved was warm and days too old, drunk out of a dirty water bottle. That’s all he ever got, and that was all he ever needed to survive.

Peter thought silently for a brief moment. 

“Water?” He muttered, paying his attention back to that  stubborn hangnail that he had yet to rip off. Those things hurt like a bitch- anyone can admit that. He hadn’t acknowledged Clint’s questions, or Tony’s angry glare at the archer for asking said questions.

The small boy risked a glance at Natasha, who’s eyes had turned glossy and sad.

Peter knew that look all to well. She was recalling a memory. A memory triggered by Peter. Oh, that hurt. The last thing Peter wanted was to hurt his family- yet that’s all he’s done so far since he’s returned. Maybe it would be better if he was back in that musty old motel room. Maybe it was better if he was with Ray and stuck to what he was good for.

Maybe.

A moment later, Nat had leaned her head to the side, closer to the boy’s face. Her lips hung low and her eye brows scrunched tight in confusion. She was thinking, deep. However, she shook off her thoughts and answered Peter.

”Oh, yes. Uh, water,” The older woman glanced towards the bedside table, heaving the water bottle their and handing it to Peter. The boy room it gratefully, taking small, tentative sips. Almost as if he was waiting for someone to come and snatch it from him if he drank to days to to much.

Natasha smiled. Peter starts at her and frowned.

”So, Peter,” Tony mumbled, taking a swig of his own water. It was a tad bit colder than Peter’s, but when the man offered his to the boy, he declined with a simple shake of the head. He was used to warm, day old water served in a dirty water bottle. “We were wondering if you wanted to come down to the commons and join us for an all night movie marathon! We’ll have everything a teenage boy would want! Popcorn, pizza, chocolate, action movies, romance movies-“

”Porn.”

Oh. Oh, he wasn’t expecting that. Neither was Peter, to be honest. He had never spoken such vulgar words, especially in front of his family. Porn was definitely not something you discuss with your father. The teen knew that. He hadn’t known why he said it, but he didn’t have bough energy to really care at all. 

Besides, that little hangnail was still holding on tight.

Tony’s eyes had widened incredibly large, the boy’s words catching him by surprise. Actually, every adult in the room was shell-shocked at the boy’s suggestion. They thought that porn would be the last thing the boy would be thinking about now.

”No, no, Peter. Not that, okay?” Tony assures, but Peter didn’t need reassuring. He wasn’t scared of watching porn. Sure, maybe thinking about sex made him gag, and watching it would probably have in reeling, but that didn’t mean he was afraid of it. He just didn’t want to watch it. The only reason he had said it (possibly, he didn’t really know), was because he remember a certain clients words.

It was a woman, around her mid to late forties. She had a pair of distressed jeans and a band t-shirt matched with a pair of Keds on her feet. Her hair was died a terrible red that looked far to fake to look good. She had a prominent nose and dark brown eyes and a face caked in chalky make-up and glittery eyes. She was ugly. Peter didn’t think anyone was ugly though. But he knew she really didn’t that bad at all. He didn’t spend much time thinking about her looks though- he was to busy clearing his main so he didn’t have to think about what was about to happen.

Everything went by in a blur, and it wasn’t a session that was memorable (in a bad way of course) by any means. She was quick and it was physically painless- but the pain inside was raging harder than any physical pain could.

She told him, with the ignorance of a racist:

_”I don’t know why you’re crying. Boys are supposed to love this stuff- y’know, porn and sex. You probably watch that shit everyday. Every boy does. Sex is the only thing on their mind- and that doesn’t exclude you. Only thing a boy like you is good for anyways.”_

Peter has thought she was wrong. Sex is not the only thing men ever think about. In fact, in Peter’s life, it was the last thing. He wasn’t some sex-driven lust monkey desperate for a quicky. No, he was human too. And he had feelings. All of which were not about sex. But, as the weeks went by and more and more strangers came and went, the girl’s words seemed more and more prominent in his mind. Should he be enjoying this? Was he defective for feeling disgusting? Was here something wrong with him?

These questions that circled his head soon stopped however, when he realized the only things he had down in over five weeks was have sex at least five times a night with complete strangers.

Maybe sex was the only thing he was good at.

Peter didn’t look up, the shame and embarrassment of his previous statement hounding him until the gears in his brain refused to grind and all thoughts halted. He hated himself. Tony probably hated him too. Hell, everyone in the room despised him at this point. They should just put him out of his misery. 

“Tony, I-“ No, he should just shut up. There was no fixing this. He had ruined it all. Salty tears gathered themselves in the boy’s hazel eyes, laughing at him- daring him to blink and release them to his cheeks. It didn’t matter anymore, his whole family thought he was a freak. The boy’s mouth hung open in a horrifying, silent scream as his face turned a beet red. His body hunched over, his hands gripping his forearms with such strength, it hurt. A small croak exited his throat. “I-I’m sorry.”

The tears flung from his eyes like bullets, raging past his rosy red cheeks and eventually jumping onto the white cot sheets, dampening them. He was pathetic beyond the word.

Steve bent down beside the cot, eyes watery and downcast. He looked as if he were about to cry. Peter expected a strong, harsh voice to berate him- be little him before a rough hand spun itself around until it smacked him right across his tear soaked cheek. What he got, however, was quite the opposite.

”It’s okay, son. You weren’t thinking. It happens to the best of us,” The super-soldier reassured, a Tony smile heaving his thin lips in Ana tremor to come for the upset boy. It didn’t work, and the older man saw that. “You don’t have to be sorry, Peter. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Peter beg to differ. He had loads to be sorry about. And he would say he was sorry until everyone on the whole plant knew he was at fault and that he was so damn sorry. He would start now.

”I-I’m sor-sorry, Dad,” Peter began, his crumbled face come to rest in his filthy-in his mind- hands. The palms of his hands came to scrub at his eye sockets, desperately trying to control his tears. Once again, he didn’t know why he was trying to hard to hide his pain. They had already seen the tears. There was no hiding it now. “I’m sorry fo-for n-not going to-to you wh-when... a-at the gala. I-I was gonna g-go to you cause Des-Desmond was sca-scaring me. But I did-didn’t! I-I didn't! And look what hap-happened because of it.”

Tony didn’t know how to answer. Well, he knew a general answer, but it had to be specific. It was important for Peter to know that this wasn’t his fault. None of it was. This was all down at the hands of Desmond- the dirty motherfucker. 

The billionaire rushed to sit next to the boy on the cot, causing Nat to stand up with worries eyes. Peter didn’t flinch away like Tony had expect. No, he stayed right there in his huddled little ball, sobbing his little heart out. Seeing as though Peter had no problem with the man being close, the older hero gathered the small boy into his arms, brushing on hand through his curly hair, the other down his sweat-soaked back.

”No! No, Peter. None of this is your fault, do you understand me? None of it. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have been keeping a better eye on you, I should have ran faster. I should have ran out there and looked for you immediately. It’s my fault this happened to you and I will not stand by and let you convince yourself it’s yours. Because it isn’t.”

”B-But-“

”Peter. I haven’t seen you in months and the last thing I want to hear coming from your mouth is that it’s your fault- when it one hundred percent isn’t.”

A heavy silence settle down over the room. The group wouldn’t dare make a sound, and a few even contemplated leaving. They didn’t though, instead choosing to stay and support their youngest member. Their youngest family. Stark consult  have care less if they stayed or went, but he was glad they had decided to stick around. Peter was thankful they didn’t abandon him. 

For once, throughout the thirty minutes they’ve been in the room, Thor spoke up. He wasn’t sure what was appropriate to say in you situation- but he tried.

”Peter- if I may- you, my friend, are by far the strongest warrior from here to Asgard, and I will stand by that fact for the rest of my life,” The god started, ringing his hands nervously, a tic he hadn’t started doing until just now. He was extremely anxious he’d say the wrong hung. He wasn’t completely accustomed to Earth’s tendencies.  “And your father is the smartest creature to ever exist, in my opinion,” The Asgardian smiled at the other man, who’d returned the kind gesture, despite crying into his sons hair as the two rocked back and forth on the cot. “If he says it wasn’t your fault... it’s not your fault, young one.”

Peter seemed to hear the god, but made no indication at the had. He snuggled deeper into his dad’s neck, once again breathing in the concerting warmth and scent that came from the man. 

He was just confused. Obviously, he trusted his family more than any other person, but so many clients had told him different, it was hard to believe who was right. Peter wanted to believe the group- but a nagging voice on the back of his skull told him not to. 

He has to remember his place. 

“I don’t-“ The boy cut himself off, mumbling into his father’s neck. He let out a long, sad sign before continuing. “I want... Half Baked, Ben & Jerry’s.”

Tony chuckled despite the circumstances.

”I second that. So, is that a yes to a movie marathon?”

Peter pauses for a moment. He didn’t necessarily want to go watch movies for hours on end, but he knew his family was counting on him. They wouldn’t do it unless he did, and he didn’t want to ruin their fun.

”Y-Yeah.”

”Alright! Clint, go order the pizza! Nat- you’re on popcorn duty! Bruce, take Thor down to the garage and get the secret soda stash! Steve, get us some pints! Ice cream- that is.”

And so, the room lit up in a fury of smiling faces and happy chuckles of love and excitement. Finally, hope settled in each one of their guts. Maybe, Peter would be okay after all. The five left the room after shaking a quick goodbye to the small boy.

Finally alone, Tony smushed the boy back into his body with a death-group, stuffing his face into the smaller male’s brown mop. God, he needed to shower of something. Peter leaned into the man’s touch, inhaling the warmth arm scent with glee. Tony pressed a few small kisses to the boy’s head, and one long one right in the middle of us scalp.

”I’m proud of you, bug,” The man told Peter, who acted as if he didn’t hear the man. It was easier to ignore him.

If he didn’t listen, crazy ideas like that wouldn’t enter his head.

———————————————————————

“Why do they always smoke after having sex in movies?” Peter’s small, cracking voice muttered in confusion. The movie they were watching didn’t have any explicit sex scenes- they would never show those to Peter right now. But the aftermath scene was still up and running. So, Pete decided to ask a question.

Clint hummed as if in thought.

”Don’t know kid,” The father answered, his voice nonchalant as if none of what had happened actually happened. 

They were looking for normality. A type of normal that gave each one of them comfort that everything truly was the same as it was a few months ago. Without such, it left a painful, burning hole in their chests that made them feel like something as missing. A piece of them was gone. They had all gotten so used to waking up in the morning to a rushing Peter, swirling around corners and quickly saying goodbye to everyone as he left for school. It had become a norm for the group to come home from their daily activities and see the teen passed out on the couch, Tony sitting next to him working. It was domestic- and domestic was normal. And that gave them comfort that everyone was okay. There were no threats, no villains to ruin their lives or less it’s the normalcy they had all grown to cherish. Coming home to a family was the best feeling in the world. And when one of their family was gone- it was like they had been stuck in an alternate universe. It had become quiet, a silence thick with tension and an uncomfortable warmth. No one was excited to come home from the city knowing when they got back, there would be no Peter resting on the sofa after a long day at school. Tony would be relaxing beside him. It just wasn’t normal anymore.

And the fact that it may never be that normal again was almost to frightening to think about.

Peter frowned, curling the thick blanket around his shoulders tighter. His chocolate eyes glazed over the television screen, seeing the couple laying in bed, the woman smoking a small cigarette, smoking at the man. They were sweaty, still slightly panting at the warmth in the room, but overall content with each other.

Peter found normalcy in seeing that. Unfortunately. He had seen that look of exhaustion and contentment every day after sex. Although, he wouldn’t call it sex. Tony had told him not to. That it wasn’t not sex, it was rape and for it to be real sex it had to be consensual. Peter agreed that if he were to think about it, or mention it, he would refer to it s rape rather than sex. However, the boy knew that what happened was technically sex. His virginity had been taken, there for he had to have sex. It may have been rape, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t sex.

Tony was against that train of thought since the beginning of this whole thing. No way as he going to allow Peter to normalize this situation. Not the way the team had normalized coming him to a sleepy spider and an overworked father.

“They aren’t all that good,” Peter mumbled into the blanket, inhaling the familiar scent. It was the same one Tony would drape over him when he fell asleep in the common room. It smelled like Tony with a mix of flowery washing fluid. He hadn’t even contemplated what he was saying before he said it. Peter hadn’t exactly wanted Tony and the others to know he had smoked before- or done any of the other drugs he had while being held captive.

Tony blinked.

”You’ve smoked before?” The billionaire asked, stuffing a handful of warm popcorn into his mouth with a crunch. The man wasn’t mad by any means, just surprised that his goodey-two shoes son had actually down something are sorely had before. It was just odd. 

“Yeah. A few times.”

”That’s bad for you, bug,” The older man lectured, switching up to a lesser used nickname. Peter loved it nonetheless.

Peter hummed. He knew.

”Ray let me have some of his sometimes, when he didn’t feel like finishing it,” Peter clarified, stuffing his sweater-paw hand into his mouth as he nibbled on that ever present hangnail. The boy was surprised that no matter how much he chewed, the damn thing refused to budge. He wanted to chop his finger off. “They weren’t good, but they weren’t that bad either. Took the edge off.”

There was silence for a long while, no one daring to open their mouths as the movie played on. Soon, the overwhelming silence engulfed the young teen, and blissful sleep overtook his tired body. His eyes slipped closed into a silent dream.

_”It’s good. Try some.” Ray offered, poking the end of the cigarette to Peter’s lips. The boy gave him a worried stare, large eyes wobbling in the darkness of the room._

_”What does it taste like?”_

_”Try some and you’ll find out, dipstick.” Peter opened his mouth slightly, only allowing the small roll of paper to be wrapped spring his chapped lips as he breathed in the smoke. Ray pulled the cancer stick back as the boy exhaled the chemicals,  lighting hysterically as the smoke encased his lungs with an itchy burn. Ray snickered._

_”Weak lungs, huh, kid?” And with that, the older man stuck the burning end to Peter’s bare chest, permanently scarring the young boy._

_Peter ripped away with a howl, though he didn’t get far when the handcuffs chaffed at his wrists, slicing them open with the force of his movements.  The teen felt tears prick his eyes, luckily, Ray has moved from his spot by the bed before he could see the display of weakness. No matter how many times Ray struck the boy, the searing burn always felt worse than the last. Ray looked out the small window on the far side of the room, glancing out at the pollution ridden sky, dirty rain clouds moving in over the city._

_”You'll get used to them,” The monster promised, lighting another cigarette despite just putting out a perfectly good one. Right on Peter’s chest, might be add. “They take the edge off... everything.”_

_The man’s tone was sad. Peter cursed his sympathetic mind because, no, he should not be feeling bad for his capture. This man was cruel, and a monster, and deserved to rot in hell for all eternity! And he-_

_And he was sad._

_And maybe that was one thing the two of them had in common._

_Peter took up any offer to smoke after that._

The short dream was soon cut off by a hand on his shoulder, jostling him slightly. The first thought that ran through the boy’s head was; it was time. He had by asleep all day and now it was night and this was his first customer coming in. Knowing that brought a frown to his face and a pit of anxiety to reside in his gut

The boy looked t the face above him. It was a man- older but not to old. He had a face of concern on and for a moment, Peter was confused. None of his clients never liked at him like that. They always shred the same evil twinkle in their eye, or the empty, depressed look that haunted Peter to this day. Why would a client ever be worried about... about...

Oh. This wasn’t a client. This was- this was Tony. And he was in the tower, not the motel.

How could he have thought his own father was a...

Peter had never hated himself more than in that instant.

No more than a second later, the boy’s quiet breathing picked up until they had turned into weak, labored breaths. And not soon after that, he was hyperventilating. Tony kneeled beside him, trying his best to calm the increasingly frightened boy down. However, it was to no avail. The teen struggled under Tony’s grip, launching himself to the edge of the sofa where the arm rest stayed.

From then on, he wasn’t in the tower, surrounded by his pseudo family.

He was in room two-ten.

Peter screamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, little group analysis. Let’s start with symbols. We got the hangnail. The hangnail, in my opinion, represents the fact that some things aren’t as easy to just get rid of as other things. The hangnail shows that no matter how hard Peter tries to just pry it off and spit it out- it refuses to leave. This connects to the fact that rape/sexual assault isn’t just something you can forget, it’s sometime if that lives with you. Like the hangnail in Peter’s case. Then, we have the theme of normalcy. I see this as an attempt for the team to just forget what happened, if only for a few hours, just to get back the part they lost for so long. That’s just what I see.
> 
> Anyways, I’ve been doing bad recently. If you guys care, I’ll just rant a second. So I’ve been feeling really depressed recently but I’ve found certain things that make me genuinely happy. One of those being hanging out with my older sister and her friends. I don’t have that many friends (I have two) and neither of them are willing to go out and do something with me even if I desperately need something to get my mind off of everything. Long story short- I’m lonely. The problem is, my sister won’t let me hang out with her and her friends anymore so I’ve been sitting in bed home alone for hours on end and I can’t stand it anymore. I just don’t know what to do. Any advice?
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lost of love- lmc <3


	11. Room 210

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t stay here. There was no way he could last another night without someone walking through that door. He hated being alone. At night. He was too used to seeing so many people, that seeing none at all was too unnerving to stand.
> 
> So, he took matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, alright. Chapter eleven here we come! Hope you are all excited, cause I know I am. I really hope you enjoy cause this chapter really focuses on something a victim did in the documentary I watched about human trafficking. It was devastating to watch.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Implied/Referenced Prostitution  
> -Self Hatred and Degrading Thoughts  
> -Suicidal Thoughts  
> -Anxiety Attacks

Peter’s screams were so horrible, Tony was sure his ears were bleeding. The sound was so loud- raw and crumbling. Spit was slung left and right as the boy sobbed into the couch, beating his head into his knees repeatedly. 

Tony stood back, the others taking that as a sign to wait behind him. The scene was vaguely familiar to the group- they all had their fair share of panic attacks in the past. Most of them had stopped after awhile though, after months of therapy. Peter’s violent attack didn’t let up, his forehead continuing to bash itself against his hard knees. 

The billionaire was aware that the action needed to be stopped before the boy actually hurt himself, but he felt his body freeze.

With muscles taut, tight and unable to move, Stark’s mind raced but was somehow blank as well. He didn’t know what to do.

Sensing his best friends tension, Bruce stepped towards the boy, face soft. Tony opened his mouth, eyebrows furrowing. He spoke brashly: “Hey-“

”I got it.” Bruce’s voice assured him, and he other man stood down, closing his gaping mouth. Peter saw the man approaching him, burying himself not the cushioned couch, hands pulling at his hair. Bruce kept his hands up, palms facing Peter so the boy could see his every move.

As the man stepped closer to the withering teen, Steve ordered the man in what they like to call his ‘Captain Voice’. “Bruce, I don’t think you should do that.”

”Shh. I got it, Cap. Just give me a second.” Bruce barely opened his mouth, kneeling to Peter with soft eyes. Making sure the boy saw that he had no cruel intentions, the doctor took the opportunity to calm the boy down. Anxiety attacks were very common to him- he was one of the only team members who still got regular ones, aside from Tony who would occasionally be subjected to one. “Alright, Peter. I’m going to need you to focus on your breathing, okay?”

Bruce gave his sentence a minute to register in the boy’s mind, and a moment later, Peter was giving him a fast, shaky nod. He wasn’t out of his head just yet.

Bruce smiled.

“There you go. I’m so proud of you, Peter. Good job. I know it may seem scary, but it’s not real- it’s not dangerous,” The usually quiet doctor voiced, letting Peter gain his breath back, tears still streaming down his redden cheeks. Like a cherry on the whip cream of an ice cream sundae. Ha. “It’s not the place that’s bothering you; it’s the thought. Try to breath for me- in and out, nice and slow. Stay right here, Pete. Right here.”

With that last sentence, Peter’s labored breathing had begun to level out until he wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. The boy’s eyes cleared and the hazy, off look went away. It appeared as though Peter had come out of whatever little world he was stuck in during the attack. Tony silently thanked bruce for acting calm in a situation that was  _totally_ not calm. In all honesty, the billionaire was almost ashamed that he hadn’t jumped at the chance to take care of his son in distress- and he didn’t really know why he froze. 

Thank god for Bruce Banner.

Finally out of his fear induced trance, Tony rushed forward, wild eyes glittering; just like Peter’s under the cool lights. The father was disgusted that anyone could cause such trauma to a kid that he’d have a panic attack so violent and self-destructive. The beating of his head on his knees caused Peter to whine as he after-pain finally hit him. A low, pounding in his skull that told him, yes, he’d have a blistering migraine later in the day.

Tony knelt by the boy, still keeping his distance until the boy fully calmed down. However, not much longer when he knelt down was Peter launching himself off the couch and into his mentor’s arms. Peter cried, long, wretched sobs that shook his body with every breath.

Stunned, Tony slowly allowed himself to grip the boy back.

”You’re okay now, Peter. I promise.” The boy didn’t seem to believe the older man, eyes still wide and absolutely terrified. They were frantic, glancing all over the room for signs that he may still be in room two-ten. However, he found nothing but pristine walls, clean, dark floors and beautiful windows encasing the room. He was in the tower. His home. And... he could see the outside through the windows- there were no curtains to block his view. It was nighttime and he could see the stars. He hasn’t seen the stars in awhile.

Those little white dots wrapped around Peter’s mind, trapping his thoughts and telling him to stare for as long as he wanted to. Because here, he was allowed to do what he wanted without being slapped or kicked or burned.  

The darkness outside was lit up with office buildings and skyscrapers of businesses that never slept. There was work to be done, even in the dead of night. Peter grasped onto this concept easily, as the only time he ever worked was night. Maybe everyone worked at night- there were so many lights on, everyone must still have work to do. Pepper sometimes worked at night, and Peter knew this because when he used to walk into the kitchen at three A.M., he’d see her on her computer typing away on the dining room table. He’d sit there with her over a cup of coffee in silence so he didn’t bother her. The next day, she wouldn’t be there. She’d be in bed with Tony and Peter would sit down there alone in the dark for hours. Ten minutes before his father had to get up, he’d hurry back to his own room, lay down, and close his eyes. So, when Tony came in to wake him up for school, it would look like he had slept the whole night away. It worked, for the most part. 

One morning, Peter passed out with his head on the dining table. Tony came in and found out what he had been doing. From then on, he’d lock Peter’s door at night to ensure he’d sleep. It didn’t work for long when you have a genius son with spider powers. It was easy to climb through the vents. He learned from Clint and he could already climb up the tall walls to get there. 

And so, he’d sit there all night- sometimes with Pepper, sometimes without- in dead silence and the only light came from the small over head light that hung above the table. It wasn’t scary. Peter wasn’t scared of the darkness or anything like that, so walking through the dark halls and sitting in the blackness was just fine with him. It was the overwhelming feeling of loneliness that really had him shaking. Sometimes, Peter wished Tony would come down for a drink or something and see him down there. Maybe he’d lecture Peter- but maybe he’d sit down and ask what was wrong. The young teen would tell him about the nightmares he had been having about a variety of things. May’s death, for one. The night she died, the whole world crumbled around Peter. He finally had enough evidence to confidently say that everyone he loved died because of him- he was cursed for sure. 

The Vulture also caused his night terrors. Being cuddled under the softest blankets to ever exist oddly felt the exact same as being crushed by tons of concrete, among other things. Not to mention those horrible neon eyes that glowed in the darkness of the warehouse. They still haunted his thoughts.

Sometimes, he’d have nightmares about horrible things that never even happened. Like Ned or Mj dying. Tony dying. Even Pepper, Happy, Rhodey or Bruce. The main Avengers were rarely in his dreams, but they would occasionally pop up for a few moments. And sometimes, he’s see them all die right in front of his eyes and it would have been all his fault. Everything was his fault.

Peter just assumed that when he sat alone in the dark all night now, he’d have another nightmare to fear.

Body shaking, Peter felt shame wash over him. Slowly, he started to remember why he had been so freaked out in the first place. Peter had fallen asleep during the movie, and, like he had been used to for all those months, when he woke up, there was someone leaning over him. Out of instinct, he has just assumed it was a client coming in at their usual time to-

But it wasn’t. It was Tony, and he had still freaked out, like a total idiot. Now that he thought about it, he had probably scared Tony to death. The poor man must feel horrible for terrifying the kid.

Good going, Peter, the smaller male thought to himself, gripping his father’s shoulders a bit tighter, pushing his face deep into the fleshy part where his shoulder met his neck. Tony was warm, sweating slightly and that was enough to tell Peter that he nearly gave Tony a panic attack himself! Tony didn’t seem to mind or be angry at all, he simply pressed his tanner cheek against the boy’s head, basking in the scent. 

The same  _scent._

~~~~Peter needed a shower as soon as possible before Tony flew all the way to that damned motel and blew the place to shit. Starting with the bed.

The boy, being as light as a feather, was easily picked up by his father while he excused himself from the room. 

“C’mon, Pete. You’re taking a bath. It’ll help,” Tony suggested, though it was more of a demand, just not as harsh. Peter didn’t say anything, mostly because his coiled body was already fast asleep, leaning heavily into Tony’s chest, absorbing all his warmth. 

Cozy, Tony smirked internally before heading for the elevator. He decided the boy would take a bath in his own private bathroom rather than the Medbay one. Peter would be more comfortable there, he assured himself.

This time, Peter didn’t have a nightmare. He didn’t seem to be dreaming at all, actually. His body was completely still, no sign of... well, anything on his face. Absolutely nothing. He was fast asleep and very comfy. His father’s pajamas had that homey, musty smell that made you feel all warm and fuzzy when you smelt it. It had the same warmth as a well used t’shirt (which it was) and it just made him feel all cozy all over. So, he fell asleep.

Once they arrived at their floor, the two made there way to Peter’s room, then, to the bathroom. It was big, a spacious tub and shower with nice granite countertops and bright lights surrounding the pristine, white room. Peter didn’t dare get it dirty.

Except, it couldn’t have gotten dirty. Peter hadn’t been in his room for over four months.

Tony found himself visiting the room on the daily. Whether it be morning or night. Just being in the room made him tear up, remembering how he had stayed in the room after finding out what Amanda thought Peter had been abducted for. The sheer terror of knowing your kid was possibly being raped and sold on the daily was plenty. A feeling of helplessness- that you knew what was happening to your son and you knew you could help him. He just didn’t know where Peter was. And to think, the boy was only a four hour drive away and they still couldn’t find him. Tony couldn’t have hated himself anymore than he did just that instance.

As Tony got lost in his insults to himself, Peter’s body was regaining consciousness. His first instinct; to prepare his mind for what was to come next. He knew what happened once he woke up. However, remembering what had happened earlier, Peter’s mind screamed at him to stop and take a deep breath.

He was in the tower, not room two-ten. He was with Tony, not some person he’s never seen before. It was all okay. He wasn’t going to be hurt anymore.

Except, he wanted to.

Be hurt, that is. If he wasn’t good for anything else, than what was he doing wasting all his time here? Remembering the lady’s words, Peter felt the mood around him fade from “Everything’s going to be fine,” to “Go, get out, do what you were made for.”

He was a whore. Tony didn’t want a  _whore_ as a son. No one did. And Ned and Mj sure didn’t want a slut as a friend, so he really didn’t need to see them every again. And someone who can’t even protect themselves from being kidnapped and raped shouldn’t be part of a team. Especially a teammate of super heroes. Besides, he was supposed to have superpowers, he took on Captain America for fucks sake! Yet, he couldn’t fight off some creep at the bar. 

Hah. Some hero he is.

A thought crossed Peter’s mind briefly; he could leave. Go out on the streets and find someone who would take him and use him. If he didn’t do that, than he was useless. A waste of breath.

Maybe he was a waste of a life, whether or not he whored himself around. It could all end now, just a flick of a wrist- a razor against his throat. He was on top of a skyscraper, why not just jump off? He could do it, easy. Peter wouldn’t have to feel pain, wouldn’t have to have sex with strangers no matter how much he though he deserved it. And the overwhelming sensation that pounded in his head would be gone forever. He didn’t have to be scared to go to sleep, because he would never have to wake up or dream again. Maybe he’d do that. Tonight. Maybe.

Yeah.

Peter realized he was on the floor of his old bathroom. The cold, tile floor with Tony kneeling next to him, as if in a trance.

”Tony.” The boy whispered in the smallest voice known to man, but it seemed to do the job and the older man’s eyes blinked and he looked back at the boy. Then, he smiled. As if he hadn’t just plopped the boy on the bathroom floor and daydreamed. 

“Alright, Pete. Let’s get you clean. Bath or shower?” The answer was simple. Peter would never take a bath ever again. Simply staring at the tub made his arms and legs tingle as he felt the razor glide against his skin, cutting off all his hair. Then, the feeling spread between his legs and he felt like crying. 

Most of his hair had grown back, but the hair down there had a hard time since the lack of food and water wouldn’t allow the hair to grow any. It didn’t matter much, it’s not like he would ever brag about having pubic hair. It was just a bit odd. And the feeling of hands going down  _there_ was to disgusting to even think about. But he supposed the whole shaving thing was the best idea, as Ray had checked. Something about being clean and looking younger or some bullshit like that. And that guy at the gas station, he really appreciated it. Peter personally didn’t care for it. The fact that someone else had to shave him down made him hate the feeling of smooth skin even more.

”Shower.”

”Alrighty, let’s get it going.”

”Will you wash my hair?”

”Yeah, Underooes.”

Tony started the shower, leaving it on a nice warm temperature for his son. The boy undressed quickly and didn’t seem that embarrassed, standing there naked. Of course, Tony didn’t care, Peter was his son and he’d help his son shower. But he didn’t have to clean the boy’s body. He’d do that himself. It was his own body after all.

He should be able to do what he wants with it.

Peter stepped into the foggy shower, immediately being enveloped in a warmth he hadn’t felt in months. The warm water cascaded down his body, relaxing all his tense muscles and ridged bones until he had melted like puddy under the hot spray. It was silent again, and Peter took a moment to let the water trickle through his hair and down his scalp. The water dripped into his eyes, stinging them and enabling his vision for a few short seconds and he loved every second of it. It rushed over his legs and wrists, calming the raging bruises that were left there after months of abuse. Every scar was cleaned by the fresh spray of liquid.

Tony let him have the time to wash away all the dirtiness that he had kept on his body for the past four months. When the boy looked back up, the father grabbed the shampoo, just missing being sprayed by water before stepping back out and beckoning the body to come over. Peter did as he was told and closed his eyes as cold shampoo was squeezed into his scalp. 

Tony’s fingers dig into his hair, swishing and scratching against his head in the best way. The teen had missed this.

Tony did his best to give Peter the most amazing head massage the body had ever gotten. It was the least he could do. The boy hadn’t had a proper shower in so long, the first one he had back had to be perfect.

Peter didn’t try to hide his body, seemingly used to being naked in front of people. He knew Tony wouldn’t care. He wasn’t like those other people that entered the motel. Tony loves him, but not the same way Ray did, and Peter was thankful for that. Tony did examine his body, but not like those sick perverts he met, no, he was looking at the bruise, the scrapes. His eyes dragged over the boy’s rib cage, seeing it very prominent and sticking out, along with his elbows. You could even see the way his radius and the ulna twisting around in his arm. It was frightening just how malnourished the poor thing was. No wonder his scars weren’t healing with help from his powers, he needed food and energy to activate it.

”We’ll get you a snack after, Pete,” Tony promised, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing water. Peter’s blank eyes stared forward once more, he was just enjoying the scratching at his head. The gentle touch was foreign now, and finally getting it was the same relief he felt when the last client would walk out of the room. He was safe.

Peter, however, did want to argue with the man about the topic of eating.

”We just had dinner,” The boy began. His stomach was hurting after eating all the pizza and snack he had during the movie. If he was thinking, he knew it wasn’t smart to stretch his stomach after it shrinking so soon. He needed to gradually eat. But seeing all those delicious items arranged just for him, it was far to tempting. “I’m full.”

”You can have ice cream, bud. Half-Baked, remember?”

The mention of his favorite ice cream flavor had the so called “full” boy perking up. Tony smirked.

”So the myth really is true, hmm?”

”What?”

”You really do have another stomach just for dessert.”

Peter giggled and it was the most beautiful sound Tony had ever heard. A sound he missed so much over the four months the kid was gone. Peter used to laugh at everything. From DUM-E being the cutest robot in existence to Natasha hunting down Clint after the man spilled his hot coffee all over her lap.tony remembered sitting in the lab that day, Peter right beside him as they watched the security cameras pick up all of Nat’s moves. She propelled around the tower, through the vents, hiding in cabinets and all that jazz until she finally pounced on the man.

It was hilarious to watch, and the popcorn Peter had brought along made it even more gut-clenching.

After Peter had disappeared, there was no laughter. There was silence nearly every day, aside from the occasional crying you could hear coming from Tony’s room as Pepper coddled him. It was heartbreaking to hear, let alone see the father withering away each day they didn’t find the boy.

Peter was ordered to wash the aids from his hair, and Tony massaged conditioner in the same way he had with the shampoo. After a long wash of the body, Peter turned the knob off and stepped into the fluffy, white towel Tony had welcomed him with. The man rubbed the towel through his hair, messing with it until it was dry enough to stick up straight. Tony bundled the small boy up, leaving a lingering kiss on the boy’s forehead.

”Let’s get you dressed.”

Peter agreed, choosing one of Tony’s old MIT sweatshirts and same pajama pants before following the man down to the kitchen. 

Vaguely, the two could hear pop-music blasting from the common room. Tony cures, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. The smiled disappeared when the crackling voice owned by Clint started singing along to the lyrics, imitating the woman’s voice.”

”I’m not that innocent! Oops! I did it again!”

”Looks like someone found the karaoke machine. ‘Course the little bitch chose this song.”

The two arrived at the elevator quickly, Peter eager to get downstairs and sink his spoon deep into a pint of ice cream. Both males didn’t mention that fact that they could hear Clint’s singing from a floor above them, it didn’t seem important at the time. Peter was just excited to finally get some of that ice cream he was promised. 

The elevator was quick to get down to the next floor, and the metals doors opened with ease. Tony stepped out with small grin on his face, the others distracted with the game. Tony didn’t notice Peter hadn’t gotten out of the elevator. The boy pressed the button to go to the bottom floor in a spur of the moment type thing. He hadn’t planned on leaving that night, but a sudden need to get out overtook him and he had made his decision.

Tony would be angry at him, but at this point, it didn’t even matter. Peter just needed to feel something- some kind of pain to overtake the numbness that encased his body and mind.

He was done being nothing. If he was born to be chained to a bed and fucked, then so be it. 

Peter was worthless anyways. A burned to his family and friends. They didn’t want him, he was to much trouble and it was obvious. All he did was mole around and complain and made everyone feel compelled to hang out with him. He didn’t want them to love him he had ether were obligated to.

Peter was sure Tony didn’t even want to adopt him after May died. The man had offered the idea a few days after the funeral, and Peter said yes almost immediately. But the boy knew Tony only loved him because Peter had no one else to now. His parents were gone, now Ben and May. If they saw him now, they’d probably spit on him in pure disgust.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Sneaking out to go find some sick guy or girl that was willing to use him until he finally felt  _something_ again, even if the mere thought of sex made him want to throw up. So, it wants like he wanted to go out and sell himself, but it was what needed to be done.

No matter how much he hated it. No matter how dirty it made him feel. No matter how much he hated himself afterwards.

The door opened and Peter lunged out, sprinting across the lobby and out the set of glass doors, the fresh, cold air wafting into his face the second he did so. The air felt amazing. It was like being born again and breathing in your first breath or air- or opening your eyes for the first time. Cars honked in the distance, the wind blew right past him, few people walking the sidewalks.

Finally, he could breathe again.

Peter wasted no time going to the one place he knew had the most crime in Queens. A small block known to scare away even the police just because of how many gangs and violence went on down there. Peter, however, was quick to get there. 

It took around half an hour by subway and Peter was surprised Tony hadn’t found him yet. Knowing the man, he probably snuck a tracking device somewhere on the kid. But here he was, sitting in a dirty old subway next to a sleeping old man (Peter thought he was dead at first before he noticed his chest rising and falling) and a woman holding a young baby. She looked tired, but her eyes held nothing but adoration as she gazed down at the child. The mother was smiling, just barely, and every few minutes she’d glance at Peter with worry in those bright blue eyes. She didn’t say anything, more focused on her baby, but anyone with eyes could tell she wanted to talk to the boy.

Peter didn’t know what she was doing on the subway at- he glanced the the mother’s phone, which was sitting beside her, on- 3:27 in the morning. Especially with a baby. But the bruises running down her arms and wrists was enough for Peter to be glad she was on the train in the middle of the night.

She didn’t look like she was coming home from work or anything. She wore a red, cotton dress with a large black coat and sandals. Her large purse was chalk-full of items ranging from diapers to clothing to toothbrushes. She was leaving.

Peter was glad.

Soon enough, he came to the correct spot and walked off, barely hearing the small “Have a nice night” that came from the woman with the baby.

In the nighttime, the block looked scarier somehow, the orange streetlights emitting over the pot-hole heavy roads. It was silent, not a single car driving, not a single person strolling. Whole no one was out for a nice walk, there, on the corner, stood a woman dressed in short jean shorts and a tight tube-top. She wore a pair of black nylon stockings under the shorts, face packed full of makeup and lipstick. Her hair was long and untamed. Her eyes were empty, Peter could see that from the other side of the street.

She glanced at Peter, eyes suddenly sparkling as she waltzed over the street until she was right in front of the boy.

”So, what do you want?”

The question had Peter’s eyes widening and his mouth opening a gap. He was fifteen, she looked middle aged, why would she even approach him with that intention in mind? And if he look like he wanted to do anything? He was fully dressed in pajamas and skinnier than one of the street light poles. He was just a scrawny, stupid kid.

”Nothing.” He answered, and the sheer numbness in his voice had the lady raising her right eyebrow, though her eyes held surprise. She hummed.

”Right, sure. Look, it’s twenty for a blow job and-“

”I said I didn’t want anything from you.

She scoffed before her lips formed a sly smirk and she giggled. Almost as if she had just realized the most amazing thing. And to her, it was just hilarious.

”You’re a little gay boy, ain’t you?” She questioned, though it was more of a statement. Peter’s face scrunched, though he didn’t answer her in the way she expected. Instead, he ignored the statement all together and chose to use her advice instead.

”I need money.” He lied, hoping she’d point him to the best place to pick up some sick fuck. He was ashamed of himself for everything. For running away, for literally looking for someone to rape him, despite how much he hated it. He could be safe inside the tower, watching Clint sing Karaoke, but instead he chose to stand out in the coldness of night. Searching for the thing he hated more than anything.

She smirked again.

”Corner of Brooks and Reed. Rich, gay guy lives there. He’d pay anything for a good fuck like you.”

”Thank you...”

”No problem, kid.”

”Does he have-“

”Any drug you want, he’ll get you, kid.”

And so, Peter was off, worry and shame clawing at him, telling him to just go back to the subway and go home. He didn’t have to do this anymore. But there was a small voice, deep in his subconscious that told him that the empty feeling inside him could go away.

Any drug, she said. Anything he wanted he could get and maybe it wouldn’t make him feel so awful anymore. Ecstasy. Peter wanted ecstasy. He had it multiple times while with Ray. Sometimes, clients would come in with some and he’d take it without a second thought because it numbed his mind from any pain he felt emotionally. It didn’t make him feel good after, but during, it felt alright, to just forget everything that was happening. Maybe if he could just get some, the burning pain inside his mind would go away, finally.

Maybe the guy had some cigarettes too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little note about my stories- many of you have noticed the many typos littering each chapter. I’m one of those unlucky writers who doesn’t have an excuse lol. Despite what you may think, I really do re-read the chapters, I just miss the typos somehow. Idk man. Anyways, I’m feeling better than I was last time a chapter went out. I took your guys advice and went out by myself. I went shopping and I went to dinner and just took a walk and I felt better afterwards. I felt way more accomplished than I do when I just lay in bed all night. I just feel much happier and less like a waste of space. So, thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I love you.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, lease feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lost of love- lmc <3


	12. Criminal Mastermind Peter Parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knew it was a bad idea. From running away to searching for this guys house- it was an awful thought. But, despite being prepared for the worst, he hadn’t been ready for this.
> 
> He hadn’t been ready for the heartbreak that followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So, little side not here, Tony’s gonna seem like a real dick in this chapter, but know he doesn’t really mean anything he says. You’ll see. Just... don’t hate him, it’s all gonna turn out okay.
> 
> Warning:  
> -Unintentional Slut Shaming  
> -Unintentional Victim Blaming  
> -Harsh/Offensive Language  
> -Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution

Peter felt like a wanted criminal, standing there, frozen in place while Tony stood behind him. The car lights flashed in his direction, almost holding his body completely still on the door step. Tony stood with a cold look upon his face, Peter with one of utter horror.

”Tony... I-“

”Get your ass down here, Peter,” The teen didn’t move at first, instead choosing to nibble on his lip as he prepared for the major lecture he was about to receive. “I won’t ask you again.”

Tony really sounded like a parent, just then, Peter realized. And the sheer anger in his voice had Peter turning around, fear evident in his soft gaze.

Puppy eyes? Check. Quivering lip? Check. Inexhaustible amount of tears? Check.

However, those Bambi eyes didn’t lesson Tony’s fierce gaze, as they usually did. Peter always thought that if he ran away and Tony found him, it would be more of the man hugging him and relief rather than anger. Guess he was pretty wrong.

Peter couldn’t move. It was like he was glued to the concrete and no matter how much he wanted to run up and jump into his father’s arms, he knew he couldn’t.

His father turned around without a single word and headed off to the car, about to jump into the drivers seat before turning silently and ordering: “Your ass better be in this car on the count of ten or I’ll drag you by the scruff of your neck and throw you in the trunk.”

The threat had the smaller male scurrying to get in the vehicle. 

Peter desperately wanted to retreat to the backseat, but the deadly glare from his adoptive father told him not to. He’d have to face this head on. Mess with the bull, you get the horns, Peter thought, chuckling grimly inside his head. Tony didn’t look at him after that one glare, he just turned his head in sheer disgust. Peter had never wanted to hug Tony more than he did right now. He felt awful for putting his father through losing his son again, even if If was only for over an hour. It was too much, too soon. 

Tony started the car and drove off in the opposite way of the tower. 

The street lights past by and Peter tried to count them as each one passed. Soon enough, it began to rain.

The clouds were crying, and so was Peter. Small tears that should have held nothing held the tiniest amount of disgust and self-hatred. Peter couldn’t have wanted to die more than he did just now. The teen let his head rest uncomfortably against the window, watching as rain drops raced each other down the glass.

Peter’s chest didn’t shake, his shoulders didn’t convulse like they usually did when he cried. 

No, he was completely still aside from the occasional tear that would escape his empty, dark eyes. Peter didn’t have the energy to sob, didn’t have the emotional support to let his feeling out. 

Tony was against him now. An enemy, Peter realized. The boy though he had lost everything that night he was chained to the bed post and lost his innocence a hundred times over. But boy, was he wrong. He now lost the only father figure that would stick around long enough for Peter to love more than anything else.

Peter knew his father was disgusted by him. Who couldn’t be? And he had expected to be ridiculed and belittled by the man that he loved like a father.

He just wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming silence that reminded him that he was completely alone. No one to turn to, no where to go. It was him against the world now. Not even Tony would help him. A fat tear rolled down his cheek and Peter stuck his tongue out to catch it before it landed on the nice leather interior of the car. He wouldn’t ruin anything else. He couldn’t.

Tony spoke and Peter’s heart shattered.

”How could you- what the hell were you thinking?!” The man said in a sudden outburst.  Peter flinched, eyes scrunching up tightly before relaxing again. Peter knew Tony wouldn’t hit him, but sometimes, the boy wish he would. He deserved to be beat. Peter stayed silent as the man continued- he had to stay silent or else he would be punished. Peter knew the rules. But no. Tony didn’t have the same rules as Ray, did he? “Do you have any idea how worried I was? No! Because instead of staying in the tower, you were out on the streets trying to hook up with a complete stranger!”

Peter closed his eyes, trying his best to just drown out Tony’s voice. It didn’t work.

“I just don’t fucking understand, Peter. I really don’t. Peter you were raped for months,” Yeah, like he didn’t already know that. Another tear escaped down his sunken cheek and Peter didn’t even bother to wipe it away this time. “And now you’re out here looking for someone to-... I just- why?”

Peter knew Tony was just angry and didn’t mean anything he was saying, but the teen couldn’t help but let the words go to his head. He had been raped. And it was sick of him to be out looking for someone else to rape him when he could be safe with his family. Peter was stupid, plain and simple.

”Say something, Peter! Because I honestly have no fucking idea what to do. I’m trying to help you, but it seems like it’s all just for shits and giggles to you! So the least you could do is say something to me.”

”I’m sorry.”

Tony only seemed to get angrier at that. Peter knew instantly he had said the wrong thing and said goodbye to food and water in his head. Mentally, he prepared himself to be beat within an inch of his life. That always happened when he was bad or didn’t cooperate, or said something he shouldn’t have. God, why did he always have to do this to himself?

”Sorry doesn’t cut it, bud.” Tony’s voice had lowers considerably, and for a second, Peter thought he was crying. His voice had cracked like he was. The teen mentally kicked himself for making his father cry. He just couldn’t do anything right, could he?

Peter shut his mouth and focused on the way the car jerked over each pothole in the road. Eyes still closed, the boy gripped his hand, digging his nails into his palm, hoping to feel some kind of pain to ground him. It didn’t last long, however, when he felt a larger, warmer hand wedge it’s way in between and separate them. The next second, the hand was gone and Peter was right back to piercing himself with his nails. He needed something. Anything at all.

”Don’t do that.”

”I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.” Peter knew that was a lie and his face crumbled at his own words. If he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have been raped every day for months. Peter had to remind himself that he wasn’t stuck in the motel room. He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to.

And if he wanted to hurt himself, he would. If he didn’t what to listen, he didn’t have to.

”Well, you’re hurting yourself, Einstein,” Tony pointed out, an eerie edge in his voice that made the boy’s heart beat a thousand times faster. Sarcasm.

”That’s the point.”

There was a pregnant silence in which Peter took the chance to relax for a moment, closing his tired eyes. It was very late, or early, depending on how you look at it. Tony probably didn’t appreciate having to come out in the middle of the night.

Peter felt another tear slide down his face, salty and warm, he grimaced tightly. He hated himself.

”You’re lucky I got to you before you went in there,” Tony started, and all Peter wanted to do was punch him straight his his nose. His father didn’t understand what he was thinking, he just couldn’t unless he had been through what Peter had been through. Tony was really starting to sound like he was crying now. Peter wished the tears would blur his vision, and hoped they crash so the teen would die. “You can’t just do that Peter. There’s no need t-to whore yourself around like that. Okay? You don’t need to do that anymore.”

Peter snapped. There was no way in hell he’d be treated like this. He had to remember, he didn’t have to confine to rules anymore.

He didn’t need to be beaten up or belittled. Peter trusted Tony, and the man let him down. There was no use in trying to fix that, anymore. Peter had ruined it, and now, the boy was just to tired to do anything about it. Way, way to tired.

Just like how his parents had broken his trust by leaving him so early in his life. And then, Ben had down the same thing. May was next, naturally. And the most recent loss- Tony

”I wasn’t wh-whoring myself around, god,” Peter mumbled, pressing his burning forehead into the cool window in hopes of some relief from the major headache he had. One that, without a doubt, would slowly form into a raging migraine that would last for days on end. “I was just-“

”Going to have sex with some random person. For what? Money? Drugs? No. I won’t have a son who, by the way, was raped for months on end, acting like a slut! It’s almost like you want to be raped again!”

That wasn’t what Peter wanted at all. He didn’t what to be raped, or have sex. He just wanted something to fill the void left behind in the middle of his gut. And if he needed to find purpose, he’d do so by whatever means necessary. If all he was good for was sex- that is what he would do. Tony just didn’t understand that, and never would.

Along the side of the road, Peter saw a homeless man and his dog walking. The dog wasn’t on a lead, but followed the man with trust and dignity. And the man didn’t even look back to make sure the dog was following him. The mutt walked by his side, watching out for the homeless man. Peter wished Tony would take the “lead” of of him. Peter wished Tony would trust him enough for him to walk beside the man without any issue. Instead, Tony had a collar at his neck and was dragging him along in fear he would run away. If that hobo could trust a dog not to run away, a father could trust his son.

“I don’t. Trust me.”

”Was it just the one guy, or were you going to every house looking for someone to-“

A sob escaped Peter’s lips before he could catch it. The utter heartbreak he felt was so immense, it took all his strength not to open the door and jump out. Why was Tony being so cruel? 

Peter continued his loud, uncontrollable cries, not even noticing Tony’s surprised look as he gazed over at the boy. Slowly, the teen began to bang his head against the car window, an unbelievable amount of grief washing over him. This continued until the boy couldn’t help but violently beat his head, hoping the pain inside would fade away once the pounding in his head increased. Tony glanced over at the grief-stricken teen, only now realizing how his harsh words had broken his son. He wasn't made out to be a father, and this was only another example why. 

“Stop that.” Tony muttered, but Peter refused to listen.

”I don’t- I don’t have to do anything I-I don’t want-want to.”

The father grimaced. Peter was right- he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, but hurting yourself didn’t apply to that rule. Because if these self-destructive tendencies continued, Tony was sure his son would be dead by the end of the week. Of course, he didn’t know what was going on inside Peter’s mind- he never would, which made this whole situation a thousand times harder to understand. 

Maybe I had been to harsh, the older man thought, glancing at the boy with pure, unadulterated sadness in realizing he was the cause of his son’s grief.

”I’m sorry! I’m-I’m sorry! Okay, I’m sorry!” The boy all but screamed, the rawness of his voice echoing in the car, causing the other man’s eyes to tear up. You could never know true guilt or sadness until you heard your own child screaming and sobbing- knowing it was your fault they were doing so. It was a disgusting feeling, one no parent should ever have to feel. The sheer terror and guilt that filtered through the poor boy’s voice was horrifying.

”Okay, okay. I believe you, Bambi,” Tony cried, tears flowing freely down his face. So much so, the man had to pull over and park the car in fear he’d crash due to the rain and the tears that smothered his eyes. “I believe you.”

Peter didn’t answered, choosing instead to hold his breath, no longer beating his bleeding head against the window. The blood was enough to convince himself to stop; he had put his father through enough.

Tony turned to his son and upon seeing the blood that trickled down his forehead, the man reaching into the glovebox, pulling out a shit-ton on napkins he had stolen from Chipotle, as he always did. Peter saw his father’s hand approaching him and his first instinct was to cower away, reaching to unlock the car door, only to find that the child lock was on and therefor impossible for him to do so. Upon noticing this, Peter’s heart broke a little more. His father really didn’t trust him at all, did he?

Another thought crossed Peter’s mind: why weren’t they going home? The boy had realized this earlier but was too grief-stricken to mention it. But now, all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and never have to get up ever again.

”Why aren’t we- I wanna go home. Now.”

”We will-“

”Now! I want to get- I  _need_ to get out. I can’t be stuck in here anymore, I can’t. I want to get out- I can’t be stuck in here again.”

Oh. Peter thought he was-

God, what have I done? Tony’s mouth stood agape, his hand coming up to cuff around the opening. He couldn’t believe he had broken his own son to the point of self-harm and delusion. Tony hated himself, and the tears that rolled down his tan cheeks were evidence of that.

”You’re... you’re okay, Peter.”

”No! No, let me out! I wanna go home! Please, please, I just want to go home!”

”We will, we will I promise-“

”No, no! I need to get home. I cant- I don’t want to see you ever again- please.”

Tony didn’t take the comment to heart, knowing well that the kid wasn’t in his right mind. Ray and Room 210 were still ever fresh in his mind, and the locked door and yelling was only bringing those bad memories to surface. Tony liked to think he was always confident in situations like this (well not exactly like this), but now, he had no fucking clue what to do. It was like someone had switched his brain off. 

Some genius he was.

And so, Tony turned to his car door and unlocked the child safety on the passenger door. The older man watched with empty, dark eyes as his son rushed to get outside, crumbling to a heap on the wet concrete outside, sobbing into the rain as it cascaded down onto his body.

It felt like the shower, just less warm and comforting. The water still fell on and off his body in the same way, but now, it soaked his pajamas and weighed him down until his cheek crashed into the pavement, scraping the soft skin. Peter didn’t notice his father rushing to his side, a hand laying on his back in an effort to comfort the distressed boy.

Then, as if nothing had happened mere moments earlier, Peter launched himself into his father’s arms, catching the man completely off guard. 

Nonetheless, the older man gripped the crying boy back, nearly suffocating him with his grip.

They sat for a few minutes, just them, the running car, and the rain. Thunder struck and lightning shot through the sky like bullets, and after seeing and hearing his, Tony decided it was time to head home. The man had thought  if they went the long way, he’d get the boy to listen to his lecture and maybe even talk about what had happened. It worked all to well, in a sad sorta way.

”Let’s head home.”

”Yes, please.”

Peter was scooped up by the larger man, gripping his shoulders tight. This time, Tony found a way to wiggle the boy into sitting in the front seat with him, on his lap, just under the steering wheel. It was a tight fit, but Peter losing all that weight had made it a tad bit easier, and it wasn’t like the boy was complaining; he was just enjoying the warmth that father provided, despite being soaking wet with cold rain water. Ever since being caught on that door step, all the boy wanted to do was cuddle up to his father- but just then, he couldn’t. 

It seemed as though Tony had a change of heart however, because he was gripping the child protectively to his chest as he drove back home.

Tony noticed that the rain water had washed the blood on the boy’s head away almost completely, but the scab was still there, and there was a possibility of scarring if it wasn’t properly cared for soon. The man couldn’t help but stare at the small wound, imagining it was taunting him- telling him that this had been his fault.

During the ride home, Peter found himself gazing up fondly at his father. There was something that gaze. And Tony knew, the way Peter looked into his eyes, he understood. Understood what he had done, understood what he did wrong, understood what was going to happen. Tony looked somewhere in those chocolate eyes for some form of regret, but found nothing but grief and guilt. The man didn’t think the boy didn’t regret running away, but it wasn’t something he was dwelling on.

And then, suddenly, as if the world had been dead set on destroying both male’s hearts, Peter spoke the words he’d regret for the rest of his worthless life

”I want to die, Tony. A lot.”

”I-I know, kid. But I won’t let you, okay?”

Peter didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his father anymore- and he might not ever.

When the two arrived back at the tower, the rest of the group was waiting patiently for their return. When they walked through that elevator, the heroes got to their feet swiftly and almost rushed to the two before seeing their position.

Tony was holding Peter, bridal style- both soaked to the skin, shivering fiercely from the rain. No one said anything in fear of disturbing the uncomfortable silence that followed the duos arrival. The younger boy appeared to be asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep, while Tony stood, exhausted and overcome with grief.

Clint was the first to speak up, but he didn’t get far. “Tony... what the hell happened?”

Tony’s eyes filtered around the room, empty  and numb in the bright lights. 

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Just- just make something hot and I’ll go help Peter into bed.”

Natasha was the next to speak up, seemingly out of her stunned trance, something the others- minus Clint- couldn’t seem to do just yet. “I’ll go with you-“

”No.”

”Yes.”

”No, Natasha!” Tony barked, stumbling back for a moment before trusting forward to the other side of the room where the second elevator sat still, awaiting their arrival. Despite the anger that raged through the man, he kept his voice low and quiet. “I said no.”

”Just because you’re his ‘father’ doesn’t mean we don’t love him any less than you do! We have the right to be worried, Tony. You weren’t the only one worried.” The fiery red-head argued, fury growing within her as she was denied the right to see the boy she thought of as a nephew or- god forbid- a son. It was true, she loved him more than anything and would protect him with her life.

But now, she needed to understand that it was not her place to argue. She hadn’t been in the car- she didn’t know what Peter had said or done

The older man paused by the elevator doors, taking a level breath, not even bothering to turn towards the assassin.

”When you have a kid that wants to kill him self because of you, then you can worry. Until then, leave us the hell alone.” And with that, the distressed father left towards the elevator to help his son get a good nights rest- on top of the bed this time. Tony wouldn’t admit that he was harsh on the woman, because in his mind, this was a situation between him and Peter- no one else.

Natasha went to follow the two, but was quickly stopped by a hand on her wrist. Clint’s.

”Don't, Natasha.”

The colorful woman let out a frustrated growl, and her usual facade of hiding her emotions had gone down the toilet as he kicked the couch with so much force, it moved about a foot from its original spot. “Fuck this!”

Then, she was gone, to her own room, presumably.

Steve found himself in the kitchen easily, making himself busy with making some kind of soup for the dysfunctional family. It was just something to get his mind off of all that had happened the past few hours. Hell, months. Bucky helped, choosing to spend his night helping his friend. Sleep was not an option as of now.

Clint had ventured down to the training room, shooting each and every arrow into the dummies, ripping them to shreds. Thor joined the man down there, instead using his time to decapitate the training dummies with each swipe of Mjölnir. Neither said a word, choosing to keep to themselves and their thoughts silently.

Bruce took refuge in his panic room, and not because he was afraid he would ‘Hulk Out’. 

Natasha regrouped herself in her own room, breaking objects and kicking walls until there were enough holes to dub the walls Swiss cheese. She was crying, but wouldn’t admit it to anyone, despite knowing deep down that at least three other people were also crying: Bruce, Tony and Peter. The bold girl regretted her decisions and actions, but she knew there was nothing to change the past- she just had to shape the future into something forgiving.

Tony was having the worst time of all the other Avengers. Peter was just not having it tonight.

”You need to change, Peter. You’re soaking wet, babe.”

Peter didn’t listen, digging his wet face into the sheets, inhaling the scent of  _home_ that stayed on the bed even after so many months of him being gone. He didn’t want to get up now. Not when he was all warm in his own bed, not some stranger’s. Peter shook his head defiantly at his father’s wish.

Peter felt a dip in the bed and glanced over the covers only to see Tony’s face pressed into the mattress at the foot of the bed. He looked exhausted.

Tony whimpered.

_Whimpered._

”Please, Peter. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m lost, okay, kid? I’m not cut out for this ‘parenting’ stuff. I just- I don’t know how to help you.”

Peter though for a moment on this statement before answering in a wobbling yet confident voice. 

“Just leave me alone. That would help.”

Tony’s heart shattered, but Peter’s was already dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, did you guys notice the Cavetown reference? No? Okay that’s fine. Anyways, I feel like shit. I was happy for like... three days, and now I’m back to sleeping my days away and staying up all night. My motivation level has gone from a strong 10 to barely a 3, so I’m sorry for the late update. I just... haven’t been feeling okay that last week or so. I regret not keeping up with my sleeping and eating schedule because now I’m just a walking zombie. I don’t know what to do. I’m literally crying while writing this and I’m just so done.
> 
> If you enjoyed please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later, lost of love- lmc <3


	13. Apologies Are Best Served Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how big his ego is, Tony knew that one of them had to apologize by he end of the day, or one would go insane and the other would die. It didn’t matter who was wrong and who was right at this point. 
> 
> Both Tony and Peter valued their relationship more than their ego.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had friends like you guys in real life, you’re all so kind compared to my friends :) love you <3
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Lots of Mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> -Mentions of Prostitution  
> -Depression

Tony hadn’t even noticed the bowl of piping soup being placed in front of him until a voice followed the peace offering. 

The older man lifted his head from his arms that laid limp of the dining room table only to see the woman he had been avoiding for the past week. Natasha stood with a hard expression on her face, but attention man could tell their was something different in those eyes. Regret. Her gaze suddenly softened.

Natasha was a hard person to see through at times. Maybe it was just how she was trained to act, but finding out her true feelings and emotions was like trying to figure out is an ant was angry or sad- basically impossible. After moving into the new tower in Queens with the others, however, she seemed to open up more and show her true colors, which was extremely rare. Being around the people she thought of as family had really changed the woman, and meeting Peter was the cherry on top. Clint’s children had also connected quite well with the female, her motherly instinct allowing her to have a friendship with Laura and her children. Clint and Steve were already her best friends, and once she got to know the others, the family was complete. Not to mention her and Pepper really hit it off with making fun of Tony on he regular.

Speaking of Pepper, she’d be home later that day, so all dramas that had been going on needed to be resolved. And that started with an apology.

”I’m sorry.” She stated, plain and simple as she turned to walk out of the kitchen, sad eyes glanced at the tile floors. She didn’t want to see the man’s face.

To her surprise, Tony answered.

”No, it’s okay. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” The philanthropist offers, cradling his sweat-soaked head in his hands, gripping his hair lightly. It had been a hard week, from Peter running away to Pepper and Rhodey still not being able to make it home. Tony needed some kind of reassurance- advice to get Peter out of his room. The teen had been in their for days, since the whole running away situation. There was tension around the tower all those days, a type of tension that was only there when something had had happened. Like when someone on the team had been injured in a battle and had yet to wake up. That kinda thing.

Only now, it was Peter who couldn’t get out of bed. Despite denying it, Tony had been spying on the genius teen for at least an hour a day, just to see what he was doing. 

Every time, Peter had been seen laying in bed, curled up or even spread out wide on the mattress, staring at the ceiling with a melancholy gaze. Tony figures the kid was still upset over what had happened days ago and was punishing himself for it. Peter refused to eat.

Steve would continuously come by the room and leave a glass of water and some meal he had made with Bucky. This ranged from pancakes made with cinnamon and topped with homemade syrup and fresh berries to just a baked potato and steak. Everyday Peter would open his door just a crack and pull the tray in, snatching the water and pushing the food back outside. Most days, when Tony came around for his daily begging Peter to come out, he’d see Steve sitting by the door eating whatever food he had brought. 

The soldier had said that good food shouldn’t go to waste and Tony couldn’t agree more.

 Natasha gave Tony an odd sorta look. 

“Why? You didn’t do anything.”

Tony scoffed, chuckling a bit before casting his eyes down to the hot bowl of soup, watching the vegetables float around the broth aimlessly. He frowned.

“Please, Natasha. I was a complete jerk. All you wanted to do was help and I was- I was selfish,” Tony started, voice cracking near the end. Natasha probably hated him. He had ruined their friendship, Tony knew he did. “I was just trying to be a good dad, y’know? The world doesn’t need another Howard Stark but... looks like its already got one.”

The mention of Tony’s father’s name had Natasha frowning. She knew all about Howard and if he were still alive today, she was sure she would kill him. Tony was a kind man, despite what all the news sources say. The man was anything but selfish now that he had a true family- Pepper, Peter and the rest of the team. Now, Natasha has one too, all because Tony was generous and offered her a permanent home. Making him feel such anger the other night had caused her so much grief she couldn’t sleep for days.

”You aren’t anything like your father, Tony. I can assure you that. I accept your apology, but,” Natasha pauses for a brief moment, deciding her words carefully. “I’m at fault to. I got carried away and I should have respected that you needed time to help Peter. I heard he hadn’t left his room. I thought you could... I could help with that. Maybe. If it’s okay with you.”

The fact that she had to ask to see Peter had Tony’s heart skip a beat. Some friend he was.

”You can see him whenever you like, Nat. He hasn’t come out of his room in days and I’m really worried. He hasn’t listened to me. I was actually going to come to you and ask if you wanted a try. The only other person who hasn’t tried is Bruce.”

”Of course, I’ll try. Oh, and I’m sorry.”

Tony frowned.

”I thought I said-“

”Not for  _that._ I kicked a hole in your wall in my room...”

Tony saw Natasha’s lips quirk up into a small smile and he furrowed his eyebrows in mock aggression. Next thing he knew, Nat was giggling her red-haired head off, something she rarely ever did. Tony glared at her, though their was no real malice held in his eyes.

”I can’t believe you, Natasha Romanoff. Here I thought you were some sneaky assassin spy, but now? Oh, I know you're just a huge toddler. Do I need to get Clint on you? You need a time out?" Tony teased, which had Natasha's lips forming a small smile in return.

"Please, Barton's more of a child than-"

The door to the kitchen/dining room suddenly swung open with a soft force, and in walked Miss Potts herself. Just seeing the ginger-haired business woman was like breathing out a sigh of relief, and suddenly, all the tension that settled in the tower had flown out the window. Pepper always fixed everything- she was like some beautiful angel that just uplifted the mood and had you relaxing instantly. Pepper was a very responsible and organized woman, she had to be with Tony as her husband, If they were one in the same, nothing would ever get done except for emptying the kitchen and making useless robots for hours on end just for fun. The woman was like a superhero, but not like her husband and friends. No, she was the type that would instantly save you from an awkward situation at her expense. A true hero.

_This_ Pepper, did not look like her normal up-kept, tight, put together self. She walked in, back slouched with Rhodey hot on her trail. The bags that sagged down her face were nearly as big as Tony's (which was really saying something), her hair messily flowing off her shoulders, knotted and ragged completely. Pepper wore a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt that still felt even though it was from her high school days. While she looked like a sloth who hadn't slept in days, her voice was still as bright and professional as ever:

"I have the best lawyer on the case and should be here around eight in the morning, tomorrow so make sure Peter is up and ready by then. Okay, and then we'll need everyone down in the commons to discuss legal action and find out a good date for court hearings... oh! We'll also have to get a few doctors or something to figure out the individuals responsible so we can-"

"Pep,"Tony interrupted no time with going up and embracing his wife with a tender hug that practically told Pepper what was happening without even using words. She stayed silent for a moment, hugging her love back, basking in the warmth she had missed the past week. However, she knew if they didn't discuss things legally, justice wouldn't be served and Peter would be left out like a beached whale on a deserted island. Tony had other plans. "Pepper...baby... sweet pea... darling... amore... honey-"

"Tony." Natasha warned from behind him. Tony took a deep breath, knowing his next few words would break his wife's heart, no matter how strong or determined it was. "Tell her.”

I'm getting to that, Tony thought, and he never imagined being so nervous in front of a woman before, especially Pepper. She had always wanted what was best for Peter, and once she knew what Peter had decided, he just knew she was going to flip. It wasn't that she wouldn't understand, it was just that Pepper knew how to handle things and she had a specific mindset, and if someone had an opposing opinion that was stupid, she'd do all she could to prove it wrong.

Pepper was a very smart woman.

"Tony, what is Natasha talking about?" She asked, nervous eyes gazing at each person in the room, hoping to get an answer out of any one of them.

"Peter doesn't want to get a rape kit done.”  The hero supplied, letting out a large puff of air. And so, he waited. One, two, three seconds ticked by in complete silent and Tony thought that maybe it wasn't the right time to just spring on this information. He didn't dare look into her eyes, only imagining the hurt and sorrow that would litter her soft features, making her angelic face look disconsolate for the first time in a long time. It would be the same look she had when Tony told her what had happened to Peter the day they rescued him. He'd tell her of the evidence they found and what they concluded from the investigation. Tony told her about what the cops had said.

_"We find stuff like this happening on the regular, unfortunately. It's a real shame, kids don't deserve this. Oh, right! Well, we had an investigation done at the motel room and questioned some of the other clients in neighboring rooms. Anyways, you could probably tell by the state he was in that he was raped. At first glance, all we can say is that it happened more than once, probably for months. He was chained to the bed- well, yes, obviously you saw him in the room. Uh, I cant promise you anything since the DNA is all mixed together and very faint, but we can try to get some individuals up for you. Yes, sir, we'll have the whole area swiped for any other victims. Er, survivors, excuse me. Of course, sir. Have a good night."_

There wasn’t much the police could offer, having been in the same room when they rescued the poor kid. And the DNA tests didn’t even matter now that the kid didn’t want a rape kit. Mostly because if he didn’t want a rape kit- he wouldn’t feel up to going to court either.

Pepper didn’t seem to fond of Peter’s choice, despite her always respecting and supporting him. This decision seemed to be a bit absurd to her.

”What? What do you mean he doesn’t want a rape kit? Of course he wants a rape kit! How does he expect us to find the people who raped him, for god’s sake?!” Pepper ranted, arms thrown up in the air as her face painted red in pure confusion and anger. Not at Peter, she could never be angry at Peter, but at the fact that Peter didn’t know what he needed. A rape kit had to be done- Peter deserved to know the people who hurt him would be locked away forever. She continued to babble on about justice and court and this and that

”Pepper, babe,” Tony’s voice cracked, and that was when she stopped, frozen as she listened to the pure brokenness of his voice. He was tired- so damn tired. “Pep, he doesn’t care. And if he doesn’t care than there’s nothing we can do about it and that’s okay. It’s okay, it’s what he wants.”

Pepper frowned, confidence faltering a bit before she picked up again.

”Well what if what he wants isn’t the right thing?”

”It doesn’t matter. If we force him to do something he doesn’t want to, we’re no better than the bastards that paid to rape him.”

All three occupants in the room stood in a stunned silence as they let Tony’s words sink in. He was right, they couldn’t force Peter to do anything- it was all up to him from here on out. But that didn't mean they ad to leave the poor teen alone, especially after letting him stay isolated in his room for a week. It was time for Pepper and Rhodey to say hello.

"I guess... I guess you're right. Well, let's see him. Where is he?" Pepper questioned, exhaling harshly as she threw her purse down on the kitchen counter and pulled her hair back into a bun. She smoothed down her wrinkled pajamas despite knowing nothing would fix her appearance. It wasn't like she though Peter would mind how she looked, that was probably the least of his worries. However, Peter had the tendency to observe- people, places and objects- with wide, inquisitive eyes. And knowing Peter, he would take one look at Pepper and instantly feel some form of guilt or grief knowing he had caused her to become so disheveled.

"In his room. He's been there for the past week or so." Tony started, eyes glaring at the floor as if the ground had done some awful thing to him. Rhodey saw his best friend, looking at that damned tile floor with such hatred, it was almost comical. The man stood by his friend, wrapping a warm arm around him and ushering him to speak once more. Tony sighed. “He’s tired. Really tired. Of everything. Peter, he-... he doesn’t want to live anymore and I can’t blame him. We’ve been trying our best but I’m afraid he’s to far gone.”

Rhodey glanced down at his legs with a grim smile. “Well, he’s still alive, isn’t he?” A nod- a sad, barely seen, nod. Then, a frown. “Then I wouldn’t say we’ve lost him for good. Get the others, I think it’s time we had a chat with Peter before it really is too late.”

Tony nodded, sucking in a breath and wiping his tear-filled eyes. He had tried to conceal them, but in the end, it was much to difficult. Besides, he was surrounded by family, he didn’t need to hide his emotions now. Tony followed his display of depressing emotion with a rather happy one despite the circumstances and his mindset- a smile. He supposed Rhodey was right, Peter wasn't dead, he was just in his room. And all they had to do to get him out was talk. All he had to do was open his mouth and let  _words_ tumble out- whatever was on his mind. Peter would understand, he was a very understanding person. Complete with compassion and empathy... the total 'good person' package. This had to be easier than he had been expecting. Maybe he really was just  _overthinking._

"Okay, alright," Tony smiled, sucking in a breath and following the others towards the entrance to the kitchen. "Let's do this. FRIDAY, call the others and tel them to meet by Peter's room. Tell them it's important."

"Right away, sir."

"Atta girl."

The four walked down the hall until they settled right in front of the young spider's room. The bedroom sat between Tony and Pepper's room and Steve's room. Steve was the only other person who was allowed on their floor. Though Tony knew the kid could handle himself, the fear of losing him was far to strong, so he placed the most protective Avenger next to him. He knew Steve would do anything for Peter, so it was natural to place him there.

The group waited by the door for the others to gather, and slowly, one-by-one everyone made it.

”What’s his about?” Clint asked upon approaching the traumatized child’s room, still dressed in only pajamas. He isn’t angry, Tony thinks to himself. Just curious. Clint has taken this whole situation hard, seeing as though he had his own kids, and if he had lost one of them to  _this-_ well he just wouldn’t know what to do with himself. It was hard, seeing another father lose heir child, and even harder when you though of that child as your own family. He just didn’t want to feel the same pain Tony was in, but he knew he already was. “Something happen to Peter?”

”No,” Steve said, big voice full of leadership and confidence. However, there was a hint of nervousness laced somewhere in there. “No, we’re just trying to get him out... again.”

”For the millionth time.” Bucky, so kindly, added, groaning lowly as he banged the back of his head against the wall. “It isn’t going to work. It never works, we’ve been trying for like, ever.”

”It’s only been a week, Buck,” Steve reminds him, a little embarrassed his friend wasn’t being as optimistic as the others. He was right, to some degree. They had been trying all week, to no avail, and Peter just didn’t seem to want to come out. And if he didn’t want to come out, he just wouldn’t allow himself to. “It’ll work this time.”

Tony took the pregnant pause to clear his throat and usher Natasha to the door. 

Natasha was he first and only to try, seeing as though she hadn’t tried to talk to Peter at all the past week. She leaned close to the door, knocking with her middle finger’s knuckle and placing a stone cold expression on her face.

”Ребенок паук, открой дверь. Сейчас.” The assassin said, loud enough for Peter to hear and Clint to jump at her voice. Peter knew russian, he had take the language up when he realized Natasha knew it. They often talked to each other in the language and Tony cousins help but smile at the way Peter saw this as a secret little thing only he and Natasha did. Almost like a bonding experience. “Твоя мама и дядя ждут. Вы не хотите обидеть их чувства, не так ли? выходи, Питер. Теперь, прежде чем я сломаю дверь.”

Tony recognized the sternness of Nat’s voice, and if he hadn’t realized her plan, he would have told her off. The billionaire didn’t think Peter would take orders nicely after being forced to obey complete strangers for months. He didn’t want to scare the poor kid, but sometimes, all someone needs to get themselves going is a bit of tough love. Instead, he gripped his arm tightly, nearly leaving a bruise. It was hard to hear your child being ordered around after everything that had happened to him.

There was rustling within the room, followed by a bang and a groan. Rushed footsteps, rushed breaths, and then, the door swung open with a great force. There, in the doorway, sat what was left of Peter’s skeletal body.

”Well that was easier than expected.” Bucky muttered into Steve’s ear, and all the man could die as stare at Natasha in utter awe. She really was a miracle woman. She smirked at them, and all Steve did was blush while Bucky rolled his deep, brown eyes.

Tony smiled and Peter stared at his quirked lips like they were loaded guns. He frowned once more. 

The small boy instantly turned back to Natasha, wide, scared eyes watering at the sight of her. It looked like he wanted to run up and engulf her in a huge hug, but at the same time, he looked absolutely petrified. It was the same look he had the night he ran away- eight when Tony had caught him on the man’s doorstep. Peter was a very confused child.

Natasha still had a hard look on her face, a loon that said ‘try me, you won’t win’, and Peter believed that. He had expected this, anyways. He knew there was no real escape from what had happened in Room 210. But Peter would obey, no matter where he was, because he knew a punishment was to meet him if he dared defy. And even if it were just his pusedo-aunt, a person he loved, he couldn’t help but stare on with such terrified eyes. Trust slowly withering away, Peter waited further instruction from the person he thought was his family. He only prayed she wouldn’t do the same thing those people had done at the motel. However, Peter knew having to obey simple requests was just the beginning.

“Впусти нас, Питер. Пожалуйста.” Peter instantly moved aside, cowering slightly, allowing his family shuffle in and find their own seats amongst his bedroom. Natasha and Pepper day comfortably on the bed, which was just a tad bit sweaty, and the pillow was soaked, but that didn’t matter. Steve and Bucky found themselves in the two chairs that surrounded a small table by the balcony. Clint found his place on top of the headboard, which earned him a glare from Tony. Bruce sat on the floor, quiet and reserved, like he always was. Tony day on the edge of the bed next to Rhodes.

Peter didn’t quite know where to sit, seeing as though the team had taken up his whole room. Next thing he know, Peter was waving him over and he cousins help but snuggled under his mother’s protective arms. 

Hed never thought he’d be doing something like that. Peter never thought he’d have a mother again, much less a mother who would snuggle with him and show him all the love and praise he didn’t deserve. But here he was, with a mother and a father who was willing to give him the world even if he was dirty and damaged. They still loved him.

”Peter,” Tony sighed, and just hearing his father's voice clear, and not from behind a door was music to his ears. With that sound, he cozied himself into Pepper’s side and sighed, exhausted. He truly was tired. “We need to talk, kid.”

”About- about what?” Peter grumbled, nervously glancing at Tony, chewing his lip.

”Well, a few things, actually. One, we wanted to make sure you didn’t want a-a rape kit done. And if you wanted to go to court for what... for what happened.”

Peter’s eyes were dead. Void of any emotion. They just stared right into Tony’s soul and ripped his heart in two. Those huge, chocolate eyes that were supposed to hold all the joy and happiness in the world had nothing. Like a cup that had been emptied, Peter’s eyes no longer held anything of value. They were just to body parts, not windows to the soul or any of that shit. They weren’t even sad. They were just nothing. 

“I don’t want that done. And I don’t want to go to court. Thank you, il babbo.” Italian. Damn, that kid was a genius. Even if he was completely gone, he would still be the smartest person Peter ever met. He knew two languages, almost fluent in both. And he knew just how to stab Tony right in the heart with those beautiful words he spoke.

”Okay then, we won’t be doing that.” Tony glanced at Pepper, only to see the woman looked completely heart broken at her son’s choice. She didn’t understand why he didn’t want revenge on those bastards that hurt him. If it were her in that situation, she thinks, she’d send each asshole to jail for life. But then again, she wasn’t Peter.

”What else?” Peter mumbled, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them again, Tony was met with those lifeless eyes, and all Tony Visio think about was how Peter wanted to die. He had told him that. Straight forward- he had said he wanted to die. And with that knowledge in mind, those dead eyes made it seem an whole lot scarier. 

A whole lot scarier.

”School,” Tony cleared his throat, blocking’s rapidly to keep the tears from flooding his eyes. “When do you want to go back to school? If you want to at all. You don’t have to- don’t feel pressured.”

”Tomorrow. I want to go to school tomorrow.”

That seemed to catch the attention of Pepper and she finally spoke up. “Peter you can’t go to school tomorrow, it’s to soon.”

That seemed to flick a switch in Peter, because he instantly lifted himself from Pepper’s side and sat with side eyes on his knees, dipping into the mattress. Tony knew what was happening, and he would sure as hell make sure Peter knew he understood this time. He understood, now. He really did.

”I don’t have to do anything-“

”-you don’t want to. You what to go to school tomorrow, Peter?” A nod. A small, shy, tentative nod. “Then you’ll go to school tomorrow, Underoos.”

Pepper stayed silent this time, excepting the fact that yeah, maybe she didn’t understand what Peter was thinking and she hated it. And whine she couldn’t figure it out right now, it didn’t mean she never could. But Peter was a complicated individual. Which meant it would take a long time to figure out. Months, maybe even years. But she’s be damned if she wasn’t goin to try.

Peter stared at Tony for a long moment, realizing that his father finally understood. It was an odd look, one that was a bit hard to decipher in the moment, but ultimately was in the end. A step closer to trust, Tony thinks.

”Next.” Peter insisted, wishing this whole talk would be over soon so he cousins sleep. Everyone would leave, finally and he could sleep. Except for Tony, maybe. Maybe, he could stay. Maybe.

”How are you?”

There’s a long pause before Peter answers, and it’s a lot more words anyone in the room was prepared for. 

“I’m okay,” He started out, a grim frown on his small features. He gulped before continuing hesitantly. “I just wish things would go back to the way they’re supposed to be. Like when I’d come home from school and when you asked how my day went, I’d say ‘fine’ even though it wasn’t fine. Whether it was Flash being a jerk or the feeling of... whatever it’s called stuck in my head, it didn’t matter. I’d always say my day was just fine and somehow, lying to myself made it all just a little bit better.”

”So, then, Peter. Are you okay?”

Peter was crying now, an ugly grimace on his face as silent tears fell down his anguished face. Practically choking on his spit as he inched closer to his father, who had turned to him, arms outreached. 

“I’m fine.”

And he collapsed into Tony’s arms with a terrified sob. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” The boy muttered into his mentor’s shoulder, hysterical with grief and anguish, it sounded almost painful. It probably was, sitting there, sobbing in front of  your heroes and family without a filter, knowing they all knew you were raped and beaten into submission. They all knew how weak you were, how fragile and broken you were. They all knew how you had wanted someone to rape you, and now, you have nothing left.

It was all for nothing. Months of hell, for nothing.

Nothing... but at least he got to see Tony again. Got to hold him for the longest time, just to earn some form of warmth back. And even if the only thing he was useful for was sex, he didn’t have to do it anymore. He didn’t have to be useful. All he had to do was sit in his father’s arms and embrace the pure love the man felt for him. Relive the same love May and Ben gave him when they were alive. Peter had to savor these moments, knowing his new family would be gone too, if the trend continued. 

He didn’t have to think about that now, though. 

All that matter was the here, and the now.

All that mattered was Tony rubbing his back and cascading a hard through his hair

All that mattered was this.

Not the pain that settled inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s going to school in the next chapter, then I’ll have to find what chapter to end it on. I’m thinking chapter 15 cause that number would be satisfying to finish on, don’t you think? Anyways, I’m feeling pretty okay, nothing wrong, nothing right. I’m doing okay. Thanks you for all the kind words, I really needed it. Love you guys <3
> 
> If you enjoyed, less feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc <3


	14. School House Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School used to be Peter’s favorite thing in the world. Most people would call him a nerd for loving it, but he’d take that over anything else. But now, looking at that intimidating building, he wasn’t as executed as he thought he’d be. But there was no turning back now.
> 
> Not when he had dreamt of this for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIED WE’RE GOING TO 20 CHAPTERS BECAUSE IT FELT INCOMPLETE AND I PLANNED OUT MY CHAPTERS NOW SO YEAH OKAY BYE.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Bullying  
> -Mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> -Depression  
> -Suicidal Thoughts  
> -Anxiety Attacks  
> -Suicide Attempt

_Peter glanced over at the man laying on the bed next to him. He was smoking a cigarette, like how in most cliche movies, someone would smoke after having sex._

_The man was large, a mix of muscle and fat. He was heavy, definitely, but not bad looking at all. His hairy chest heaved softly with each puff of smoke as he stared at the ceiling. It seemed as though he was making images in the popcorn ceiling, a thing Peter did all the time in his old apartment. He'd lay on the couch, May and Ben on the floor sitting in silence until each one of them had found an object or animal made in the pattern. Then, each one of them would look where the other person was and try to find what they had seen- usually in vain._

_The male, who Peter had learned was named Jack, had been in the room for over an hour. Still, he wouldst run out of time for another fifteen minutes. Which menat the teen had to lay, chained up, next to the man who had just raped him. It wasn’t bad, he wasn’t talking and the only sound that could be heard was the rickety ceiling fan wiring around slowly. It was times like these Peter was god he didn’t have a blanket- the room was practically scorching. Not to mention the amount of physical activity he had to do every night. It was tiring and hot and miserable constantly. Jack seemed to think it was pretty hot too, because every once in awhile he’d fav himself off with his hand and exhale sharply. Not to mention how much he was sweating. All over Peter’s bed, may he add. The same bed he’d be laying in for the rest of his life, as if would seem._

_Peter glanced at the man, who looked as if he wanted nothing to do with the boy._

_Or so it seemed._

_”Y’know,” Jack muttered around his cigarette, not even bothering to inhale the smoke. It just sat there, loosely hanging from his mouth, and Peter just wanted to snatch it up and breathe in the sweet release of nicotine. Screw Ray. “I shouldn’t be here.”_

_Well, obviously, Peter thinks. He probably didn’t think he’d be stuck in a dirty motel room raping a fifteen year old boy last week. No, he hadn’t  planned to do any of this. Jack was probably expecting to be sleeping in his own bed, next to his wife with a fan that didn’t sound like it was about to fly off spinning over his head._

_But in the end, he_ _decided to come here. And that was on him._

_Peter kept his mouth shut, like he knew he should, and nodded his head. Staring down at his bare chest, he noticed the brand new bruises beginning to form on his withering body. Hand prints, running up and down his torso, over his private area and just over his thighs. They hurt._

_Jack glared at him, almost as if this whole thing was Peter’s fault. The teen couldn’t agree more._

_The man continued._

_”Everything was fine last week,” Jack grumbled, growling almost as he yanked the cancer stick from his mouth and crush the burning end on Peter’s peck, twisting it around. Peter let out a startled gasp, but made no other sound as the skin bubbles and burned- scarring permanently. It only added to he several other cigarette burns that littered his abused body. “Then, she goes and fucks some prissy man at her work. A slut, I’ll tell ya. We got kids, y’know. Around your age and she knew what she was gonna ruin it all but she did it anyways. Bitch. We go to get a divorce and guess who gets the kids? Not me, or else I wouldn’t be here.”_

_Peter didn’t know what to say. He’d heard the story a million times before. Sometimes, people come in, take what’s theirs and use the rest of their time like it’s some therapy session or something. Peter never knew what to say, so he usually just stays silent and listens. It’s sad._

_Jack growled. “You can talk, y’know? I won’t... tell your boss or whatever.”_

_Boss. That’s what he thought Ray was. Not Peter’s kidnapper or trafficker. No- he was his boss. This was all just a business and a scheme to get some lazy people money since they can’t work for it themselves. He was just a pawn in a game that was far to hard for Peter to play._

_Like poker. Bucky tried to teach him poker, but it was way to hard, so he gave up._

_He gave up._

_”Okay.” Peter whispered, and he was pretty sure Jack couldn’t even hear him. It didn’t matter much, it wasn’t like the man cared much about what Peter had to say. No one ever cared about what Peter had to said._

_Jack sighed, rolling over so he was facing the teen before placing a big, meaty hand on top of the boy’s chest. Feeling each inhale and exhale, the betrayed man felt up each scar Peter had earned from talking back or retaliating. Even just looking at someone the wrong way got him a beating. Some scars were from Spider-Man, including a large one on his side that dug deep and left a pink, fleshy look behind. Peter had been stabbed, and when he tried to move away from the knife it had sliced right through. He rather that happen a millions times over if it meant he never had to be held down and taken again._

_”You get beat a lot?” Jack asked, pressed his large fingers into a rather meaty scar, igniting a flinch from the boy. “Sorry.”_

_”It’s okay.” Peter answered, however he shut his mouth, careful he didn’t let anything more out. Even if there was no way Ray could hear the conversation unless he was right outside the door, the thought of the man listening still scared the boy. As the silence rang out between the two, Peter felt an ugly burning sensation in his gut as the man's hand went lower and lower on his torso before raking itself back up. Peter could feel tears gather in his eyes as he practically begged for Jack not to initiate anything other than the light pets. He couldn't go through that again- even if he knew it would all happen again when the next person walked through the door. Jack wasn't the worst out of the people he's met so far. Sure, he was rough and angry the whole time, but at least he wasn't weird. The weird, creepy people are the worst. The ones who call him 'pretty' and act like he's a girl. Peter thinks, regretfully, that if they wanted to fuck a girl, they can go to another motel and find some girl chained to a bed._

_But, no. Peter’s glad it’s him and not someone else._

_Jack doesn't answer for a long time. He just lays there, skimming his hand over the places muscle should be. However, after months of barely any food and no real exercise, all he was was skin and bones. Of course, once Peter learned that the only place he could get fed from was Ray's hands, he stopped fighting and remained obedient and limp. It was easier that way._

_Despite his better judgment, Peter actually begins to enjoy the hand soothing down his chest. It's a stark contrast from his usual mistreatment, and it's nice. It feels, almost, like hugging your mother after you get put in time out. Even though she was angry and is upset with you, she would still hug and forgive you, giving you all her warmth and love. For Peter, of course, it was his aunt rather than is mom doing this. It was beautiful nonetheless._

_"I'm going to take that as a 'yes'. Anyways, when do you get home tonight?" An idiot, Peter believes, but just the mention of home had tears once again springing into his eyes. Peter knows he can’t say much about Jack being stupid because the only reason he'd not going home is because he was the stupid one, getting himself caught. Jack must've thought Peter had been doing this on his own free will, despite being chained to a dirty bed, naked, beaten and malnourished. Peter may have been an idiot for trusting Desmond, but no one could have been dumber than Jack if he couldn’t put two and two together._

_“I don’t get to go home.” Peter answers, rubbing his lips together nervously. All he wanted to do was run a hand through his hair- a nervous tick he had picked up from both Tony and Bruce. They were a stressful bunch._

_Jack, finally, seemed to understand the predicament, and his face instantly morphed into that of guilt._

_”So I just...”_

_”Yeah.”_

_The man seemed down right heartbroken. Anyone would be, knowing the prostitute they paid for wasn’t really a prostitute, but a child forced into this. Knowing you’ve raped someone without even meaning to was probably the worst feeling anyone could ever feel. Well, besides actually being raped, that is._

_Peter wished Jack would just stay quiet and keep rubbing his stomach and ribs, but he didn’t. His hand retracted and the man sat up, frowning. “I’m sorry.”_

_Yes, because saying sorry to someone you’ve just assaulted makes everything so much better. No matter how angry Peter wanted to get, his good conscience wouldn’t allow it. He wanted to be full of rage, but all he felt was remorse and empathy towards the man. He had just lost his wife and kids in the span of a week. But still, that was no excuse for what he had done, obviously. It doesn’t matter if he knew it or not, he still raped a fifteen year old boy._

_And still, all Peter could say was:_

_”It’s okay. You wouldn’t be the first, or last.” Peter said, wishing Jack had stayed clueless and would just sit here with him for a little while. Once again, the man did not._

_”Look kid,” Peter wanted the hand on his chest to return. He wanted the gentle caress and touch that didn’t have to be sexual or angry. Peter wanted Jack to keep him company before he had to spend the next day alone with (or without) Ray. “I’m really sorry. I gotta- I’ll leave. Okay. Uhm, okay, bye. I’m sorry.”_

_Peter stared down at the slowly forming scar on his chest and thinks bitterly, that the man truly isn't sorry. Because if he was, the apology would have met his eyes- and those eyes would have met that burn and those eyes would have become sad and regretful at the mere sight of the small and insignificant wound. And then he would have apologized, because he had realized what he had done when was hadn't realized what he was doing. And regretting what you've done to someone when you weren't thinking is one of the most painful types of regret, because no matter how sorry you are, you can't take back what you've done. Like when you're angry at someone you care about and trust, and in the heat of the moment you let those bitter words 'I hate you' spit out, and it's only until you see the pure hurt on their face do you realize what you've done._

_The teen's eyes are begging. Pleading the man to unchain him or call the police or something- anything. Jack doesn't though. His brown eyes meet Peter's in a way that makes the growing hatred within Peter double in size. Not hatred for Jack, or Ray, or even Desmond- but hatred for himself._

_Jack rushed off the mattress, gathered his clothes, dressed, and then rushed out of the room in a hurry._

_”Sorry, kid.”_

_And the door-_

**_Slam!_ **

”Ah!” Peter woke with a scream, eyes rushing around the room, only to find that he was laying in a plush, silk bed inside his bedroom. His real bedroom. Inside the tower. There was a bedside table that held an Iron-Man styled alarm clock that read 5:45. It was time to get up fro school, because finally, things were starting to go back to normal. Peter would be allowed to go to school today, and that meant seeing Ned and Michelle after months of being separated. It vaguely crossed his mind that everyone at school knew he had been kidnapped, since basically the whole city knew. The news was both a blessing and a curse, Peter thinks bitterly. 

Ned won't ask about what happened, he knows better than that, Peter believes. If worst comes to worst, he'll just think it has something to do with Spider-Man. Peter could always make up a story about some villain wanting to get revenge on Peter for putting him in jail, or something like that. It was easy to lie to Ned, he was a very naive boy. Peter was naive too, that was obvious. 

Mj probably figured out what happened- she's just like that. She knows everything, including the fact that Peter is Spider-Man. She figured that out early on. It didn't matter much, Peter had convinced Tony that the girl was trustworthy and didn't, in fact, need to be kidnapped/tortured/killed. Not that Tony would do any of those things... yeah, right! Still, the fear that Michelle knew what happened was still fresh in his mind, and it hurt. A type of burning anxiety that wouldn't let up no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that she had no idea. Ned didn't know either, right? The news wouldn't say anything about- about human trafficking. Tony and Pepper wouldn't allow something like that to get out to the public, they knew Peter wouldn't want them to. 

To caught up in his rushing thoughts, Peter hadn't noticed FRIDAY continuously calling his name. "I'm afraid I'll have to notify Mister Stark of your perturbation due to your lake of response."

Oh no. Nononononono. Please don't wake him up, Peter begs internally, hoping the man was already awake and the boy wasn't bothering him to much. "No, FRIDAY! Do  _not_ call Mister Stark."

"Mister Stark has been alerted."

"No, FRIDAY, you idiot!" Peter groaned, though there was no malice behind his words. Annoyance, sure, but no malice or true anger. It was pathetic, really, that he couldn't even get angry at an Artificial Intelligence system. Just like how he couldn't feel any real hatred towards Jack, despite what the man had done. There was a little voice, strong and prominent in his head that told him the man had an awful week and needed someone to get his anger out on. His world had been ruined- it really had been. Peter shouldn't even be feeling any anger, even if he could. This was all his fault, and he'll remind himself that for as long as he lives.

"My apologies, Peter, but it's protocol."

While waiting for Tony to show, Peter takes a moment to think about his dream. It wasn't very scary, no monsters and no particularly bad images. But he knows the exchange between Jack and him was one that would remain with him, because it was the scariest one he had ever been in. Not because the man was angry or rough with him. No, but because the feeling of helplessness is the most frightening feeling ever.

Helplessness is a feeling that engulfs you, drowns you until you can’t breathe anymore. Your lungs flood and overflow with dread. 

Dread. The knowledge that this was it. This is it. This was Peter’s life. Chained to a bed. Starving, raped and beaten until it physically hurt to move even an inch. And no matter how much he cried, the feeling never went away. It’s like knowing there was no way to change it because he was weak and tied up and there was no way out.

And he hadn’t even said goodbye.

When his father opened the door, Peter flinched. Hard enough for Tony to notice and immediately look sorry. A true sorry. An apology that reached his eyes. 

“Hey, Pete,” He greeted, calmly at seeing that there was no immediate danger. He was about to barge in guns-a-blazin’, but he was glad he didn’t. Peter looked scared just because of a simple door opening a bit too hard. Imagine if he had flown in, Iron-Man suit and all. Now that would have been a disaster. “FRIDAY told me you were in distress. What happened?”

Tony approached the bed with staring steps. And, strangely enough, he didn’t looked scared. 

Everyone had been scared when approaching Peter. Like if they got to close, he was just... shatter. Noticing that Tony hadn’t hesitated in walking towards him left a sour taste in Peter’s mouth. It was just strange. The teen couldn’t help but gulp, seeing his father’s steps keep coming closer and closer to his bed, almost in slow motion. 

Peter didn’t know why this had made him feel so odd. It should be relieving, knowing Tony wasn’t afraid to come to him anymore, but for some reason it wasn’t.

It just wasn’t.

Peter hadn’t noticed his mouth sat agape, if only a tad. He must’ve looked so stupid, sitting there like a fish out of water. But he truly was speechless, but not in a surprised sort of way. More of a realization. A sad realization. One that he didn’t actually know.

”I-I’m okay.” The boy answered quickly, large eyes gazing up at his father. Shaky hands coming to grab at the covers that encase his body. Peter was ready for the conversation to end, so he could get ready for school and finally leave the tower. As large as it was, the space felt suffocating. He needed real air. And real sun. And real dirt. 

“That wasn’t what I asked, Peter,” Tony sat on the bed, enough space between them so Peter didn’t have to flinch away. Something wasn’t right this morning. “What happened? Why did FRIDAY have to call me?”

Peter can’t help but notice that Tony’s talking to him like a child. One that isn’t capable of holding real conversations. Maybe he had reasons to. And while Peter can’t seem to get angry at his own rapist, he feels nothing but fury when he sees Tony’s face. He was fine, and didn’t need to be babied. He had to admit, sometimes it felt good to be treated like a child- the constant being taken cared of. The feeling of knowing someone cares for you enough to do everything for you. It was nice. 

But not today. Today it wasn’t nice.

”She didn’t have to. I told her ‘no’ and she did anyways.” Peter muttered, eyebrows furrowing in anger. It crossed his mind that the sentence he spoke fit in all to well with his past predicament. 

Tony looks confused for a brief moment, before that sad look comes back on his face it an ugly feeling grows inside Peter. “You know in only trying to help you. Peter, you don’t have to talk about it but it might help. Talking helps.”

Peter doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to bottle it all up in the back of his mind and keep it far out of reach. He wants to first forget about it and when he’s eighty he’ll tell his grandchildren not to go out alone and when they ask why- then he’ll tell them. But for now, all he wants to do is go to school, take a few tests, and come back home. Maybe even sleep for a few hours, if he can. 

The teen shakes his head and moves to get out of bed. Tony doesn’t leave like Peter wants him to. Finally, Peter turns to his father and mutters the simple words:

”I have school.”

This seems to come as a surprise to Tony, because his eyes widen for a small second and he looks like he’s at a loss for words. The man probably forgot, and that was fine with Peter, as long as he was still able to go without an argument. It didn’t come as a surprise to Peter, that his father forgot he had school. Last night had been exhausting, filled with tears and hours of cuddling and sobbing. Both had actually fallen asleep on Peter’s bed, the teen now remembers. Tony must have gotten yo before him and left. So I guess I didn’t bother him if he was already awake, Peter thinks with a full heart. Good. 

“Right, right. I- uhm- forgot. But, yeah, yeah you do.” Tony stuttered. Tony Stark never stutters.

Peter gives him a long stare but Tony holds his gaze strong. This whole morning has created a  pool of anxiety in Peter’s stomach. Something really wasn’t right about today. Tony doesn’t leave, not like Peter thought he was going to. It looks like he has something on his mind. Something bad.

”Dad I-“

”-listen Peter-“

The two try, only to find themselves once again, in a silent room, hoping one of them would speak up. No one does, for a long moment.

”They know.”

Dread. Dread begins to suffocate Peter. It slowly creeps into his lungs and drowns him from the inside out. His heart has stopped. The gears inside his mind no longer turn- frozen. Hopelessness Rios at his insides, scraping his skin and twisting his intestines. His tongue is stuck to the tip of his mouth, as if he had eaten extra thick peanut butter. The awful feeling clouds his vision and for a moment, Peter is blind.

Dread is a funny thing. 

They know. Everyone knows. Knows what happened, knows how dirty Peter’s become. 

Peter is able to feel anger again. A dirty, dirty feeling. Rage and anger and pure exhaustion. He swallows harshly and he knows deep down, that this wasn’t Tony’s fault. He knows it isn’t because those eyes are telling him. That’s a real apology because it reaches his eyes- it really does. It may not be Pepper’s either. Some things are out of their control. It doesn’t make him any less furious.

”How?” Peter asked, face scrunched up in an ugly sort of way. But that was how he felt on the inside- ugly and just not right. He supposed it didn't matter how smart Mj was, she knew already. And so did Ned. So did Flash- oh god. 

"The police notified the news stations. You know how nosy they can be- especially with me and the Avengers and all that shit. I tried my best to keep them quiet but it still got out to the public. I'm sorry Peter, I promise my lawyers are on it-"

"No."

Silence. There's been a lot of silence in the tower recently. No one wants to talk- no one dares to talk. Conversation will die the second Peter enters the room, he's sure of it. He has that type of effect on people. They are scared of him, of what he's done and how he will react to them. In reality, Peter trusts them with his life, he isn't afraid of them. Peter won't flinch when they touch him, not anymore. He knows he can trust his family. It's strangers he doesn't trust. Because he knows what people are capable of doing when they don't know you. They can use you and abuse you and not feel a spot of remorse. Except for Jack, maybe. He may have felt guilty, but he wasn't sorry. He was selfish, only thinking of his reputation. The apology didn't meet his eyes. The sadness didn't meet his eyes.

Tony blinked. Once, twice, a third time. "What do you mean 'no'? Peter- this is serious. It's an extreme invasion of privacy and... you aren't even listening to me, Peter!" He was right, Peter wasn't listening to a word of what tony was saying. He was to busy getting ready for school. The last piece of normalcy he needed. Peter picked out a plain black t-shirt (it was to big, obviously, Peter hadn't eaten in a week) that Tony had gifted him as a 'Welcome Home!' gift the day he was adopted. The Stark Industries label was plastered on the front, a design peter had always like. Tony sighed. "Alright, alright. We'll talk about this later." Tony gave the boy a smile, a genuine one. "I'll make breakfast, just come down when your ready."

And with that, he left.

Peter nodded, choosing between two pairs of jeans. Which ones were smaller, that's what he was deciding. A small hand made its way to his hip, palming the pelvic bone that stuck out far to much. Skin and bones, Peter thinks bitterly as he slowly slides out of his pajama pants, only in his boxers. Able to see his legs once more, Peter cringed at the sheer emaciated look they had to them. He looked disgusting. Knee bones bulging out of his pale skin, still bruised from the many beatings he deserved from Ray, and even some clients. It was a good thing he didn't own many shorts- not that he would wear them if he did. Not with legs like those. 

The genius teen grabbed whichever pair of jeans and put them on, immediately grabbing a belt to go along, seeing as though they hung on his hips almost comically. peter brushed his hair, not bothering to gel it, and grabbed a pair of socks.

Making his way to the kitchen, Peter made sure his pockets were in all the way and his hair wasn't to disheveled. He didn't want Pepper getting any ideas- he actually wanted to go to school, despite what she thought was the superior idea. It was a simple case of the need for normalcy, which was something he hasn't felt the day his real parents died. Not every kid loses their parents and their uncle so early on, and then proceed to get bitten by a radioactive spider. Of course, it was fun to not be normal. But sometimes, Peter can't help but think he was a freak. It gets frustrating, when you eat a three course meal and still be starving, or how your senses are always dialed to eleven- sometimes passed eleven. It's a scary feeling, the constant buzzing in his head and that huge voice screaming " _SOMETHING IS WRONG"_ almost always. It gets old.

Sitting on the ceiling, however, does not. 

When Peter walked in, there sat the team at the dining room table... plus three new faces. Now, Peter had grown accustomed to strangers randomly showing up, but that was back in the motel. Of course knew interns showed up everyday but that was down in the lower floors, not the main living area, so Peter didn’t see them that often. 

Peter decided he wasn’t afraid of these newcomers. No, they looked innocent enough. 

There was a man- well, robot- and he wasn’t much of a stranger at all. It was Vision, of course. Peter knew him, had seen him often. But now that he though about it, he hadn’t seen the intelligence in a long time. A few months at least (then again, four of those months took place in captivity). Next to Vision, who was standing by the stove, stood a woman. She looked to be in his twenties, and she had long brown hair that almost had a ginger hue to it, but it was nothing like Pepper’s. She wore black jeans and a plain black shirt with a red, leather overcoat that sunk to her knees. On her feet sat a pair of black, heeled boots. She glanced at peter and offered a small, shy smile, thought she looked anything but shy. 

The third new face was an African American man that packed on quite a bit of muscle. He had a bit of facial hair and dark brown eyes that looked disinterested in Peter. He wore a simple grey shirt and black jeans, no shoes. 

Peter stood in the door way, unsure of what to do next. It wasn’t everyday he saw three (well, two) new faces just pop up out of no where. Tony hadn’t mentioned anything about the visitors coming, so their presence was a mystery to the boy. Tony sensing his son’s hesitance, rushed over to him with a large grin.

“Peter! So kind of you to join us!” Tony greeted, looping his tan arm around the boy. The difference in their skin color was very prominent now that Peter hadn’t seen the son in months. Peter had to admit, he was pale before the whole kidnapping situation. But now? He looked like a ghost made of porcelain who hasn’t ever seen the sun and hasn’t ever heard of spray tan and couldn't be seen in the snow. Tony, while not having been outside in the past week, was still rather tan, though he didn’t look as healthy as he usually did. Still, looking at the two, you’d think Peter was dead. The older male dragged Peter across the kitchen floor and too the table, where everyone else sat content. The boy motioned to the three newbies, in which Tony is it winked back. “Peter, this hear is Sam, aka, The Falcon-“ 

“Hey kid.”

”H-Hi.” Peter stuttered, utterly humiliated his anxiety had gotten the better of him. He could practically feel the smirk on Sam’s face.

Tony smiled cheekily. “And here we have the infamous, Scarlet Witch. Or Wanda, if you wanna be formal.”

The woman- Wanda- turned from her scrambled eggs on the stove to offer Peter a small wave. She seemed nice enough, trustworthy. He liked her- and Sam too. Sam wasn’t half bad, even if it did look like Bucky was sending him death glares every few seconds.

”Hello, Peter. Nice to meet you.” She greeted, turning back to her meal. Peter didn’t answer in fear he would just stutter again. She looked nice enough, a kind smile, soft features. Wanda reminded him of May, just younger. She wasn't to big or boxy, but she still held a type of soft confidence that his Aunt May had. She was kind, but wouldn't let herself be push around. Sam nearly did the same thing. Like May, he seemed unconcerned with small trivial things unless they involved Peter. Sam looked like the type of person to lay back and observe, but he wasn't afraid to just right in. The remembrance of May was bittersweet. Bitter because- well- she was gone. Sweet because she was finally reunited with Ben (Peter liked to think the two are somewhere nice, watching over him, but he never was very religious, so he didn't know).

He hoped they were happy there- wherever  _there_ may be.

Tony took the silent pause that came after and threw it out the window. He would  _not_ let this get awkward, not when it just stopped being quiet in the tower and everyone was finally conversing again. Wanda and Vision took their seats just as Tony grinned. "On the menu today we have Steve's 'Give Me A Heart Attack' pancakes, which, by the way, took six sticks of butter to make. So if we all die after breakfast, we all know who to blame," Tony laughed, the other's snickers drowning out Steve's offended 'Hey!', which only had the group laughing louder. "And on the side we have eggs and hash-browns made by yours truly." Tony bowed softly, a real smile gracing his features.

Something inside Peter switched, and the sudden need to join in on the banter was ever present. And despite being told probably the worst news he could ever be told, a weight was lifted on his chest. 

He was no longer suffocating.

"And you didn't burn the tower down? Impressive." Tony glared at the boy, sticking his tongue out the way a three year-old would when angry. Everyone let out another round of giggles and smirks, and it seemed as though the normalcy of the scene had instantly lightened everyone's mood. Though deep down, around the happiness and  respite, there was still a debilitated feeling. On the surface, all that could be seen was reconciliation and infatuation. No one looked surprised when Peter spoke. No one looked scared or even speechless that he had opened his mouth and  _let the words flow._ It was normal. It was okay.

Even if it wasn't- it was. 

It was fifteen minutes later when Peter found himself standing still in front of a black Audi, unable to move. He glanced down at the phone in his hand. He though, maybe, he'd text Ned and Mj and tell them he was coming to school, but something in his mind wouldn't allow his fingers to move. Tony was waiting patiently in the driver's seat, not forcing Peter to make a decision. IF today wasn't the day, they'd go back inside, binge watch television shows the boy missed while away and eat all the ice cream in the freezer with no regrets. 

Peter took a deep breath, telling himself that it would all be okay. Maybe he was looking at this whole situation in the wrong perspective. The other students may not be cruel- they may be sympathetic. They may actually care about what Peter had been through. Maybe. With a heart full of ambition, the teen gathered himself into the passengers seat and tucked his school bag by his feet. He gulped, slowly, almost hoping the saliva would get caught in his throat and he'd choke to death. Shaking the thought to the back of his head, Peter focused on the bead of sweat that held still on his temple, a sign of the nervousness resigned inside the lithe boy. His father didn't talk, and Peter was glad for that. HE didn't even think he could answer; not with the lump that had formed itself in his throat, or the burning sensation in his chest. The pain was all in his mind, but it didn't stop smolder from aching. The car backed out from the driver way, past the many other expensive vehicles, and entered the busy streets of Queens.

It didn't take long for the two to arrive, but what time lacked during the drive, it made up for in just sitting outside the school. Other teens gathered around in the courtyard, conversing and giggling and gossiping among each other. Vaguely, Pete could see the outline of Ned, sitting at a picnic table with Mj by his side. The girl was reading a book, something Peter couldn't see the title of. It wasn't the same book she was reading when he was kidnapped- he knew that much. 

Ned was staring at his phone, one hand on his cheek, leaning into it, the other, scrolling through whatever app he was on. He looked exactly the same as when he left. Both of them did, actually.

Although, they both looked utterly miserable.

Peter glanced at Tony, who was looking at the boy with soft eyes. The same expression he only reserved for him and Pepper. It was sacred, almost. Something special the three of them shared. The father looked on with apprehension, Peter looked back with dread. A sad dread- not a hopeless dread.

"You sure you wanna do this, bud?" The man asked. Peter just nodded, grabbing his book-bag, one hand on the handle. Just like how he hadn't been able to text earlier, his hand wouldn't open the door. His mind was screaming.

He was suffocating again.

Tony leaned over and grabbed the handle going over to open the door when Peter launched himself at his father, giving one less goodbye hug before facing the torturous world ahead. The man laughed slightly embracing him back. 

"Is this a hug?"

"I'd say we're there."

Peter chuckled, wiping away the tears that had escaped his eyes once he pulled away. "I love you."

Tony smiled. "I love you too, kid. Now get out there and show those kids how a real Stark enters a party!”

School was anything but a party. Even before moving in with Tony, school had always been a problem. People seem to hav ethos undying hatred for kids smarter than them, even if said kid is the nicest human to ever live. And the poor kids- Peter- that weren’t the best socially or shy got it the worst. There was just something about them that had bullies- Flash- hounding them constantly. Peter seemed to be the strongest magnet in school, because ever since the second grade, he had been bullied to the brink of it just seeming cruel rather than cliche.

Now that everyone knew what had happened, it wouldn’t only get worse, Peter thinks.

Some students stare at their car- maybe remembering it from past times Tony had driven him to school. Maybe others were just impressed by the move car in a place like Queens. Which it was, it didn’t matter. Their stared still gave Peter a shiver down his spine.

”Bye, dad.” Peter says, not even realizing he had finally referred to his adoptive father, as his dad. 

“Later, kid.” 

And with that, Peter let Tony open the door the rest of the way, and he stepped out into the dangerous, heart-wrenching world. For a moment, he thought about turning right around and going home, but that sooner turned out to be a bad idea, as basically the whole school had their eyes on him, waiting for him to move. Glancing back around, he saw Tony’s approving smile and the boy felt a boost of confidence knowing his father was right behind him. Tony would pick him up early, if he really wanted to leave.

The sun felt amazing against Peter’s pale skin. It was like stepping outside for the first time, and for Peter, it wa s the first time in months. The air- oh god the air- as polluted as it was, was as fresh as anything Peter had ever had the honor to breathe in. It was just as amazing as he had hoped.

Peter walked forward, not wanting to hesitate with the whole freaking universe’s eyes on him.

Act normal, act normal, act normal, the boy repeated in his head. What was normal for him? How did he walk? He can’t remember how he used to walk. Was their to much swagger in his step? Not enough? We’re his steps to big or-

Peter soon found himself in front of the same picnic table as his best friends while the rest of the school went off to talk to their own friends, some talking about him (he could hear them-super hearing- from across the courtyard) and others just ignoring him completely. Paused in front of the table, neither Ned nor Michelle had looked up yet, seemingly not having noticed him. The boy cleared his throat, loud enough to get their attention, but not the attention of others. 

He could practically feel the annoyance radiating off them both when they lifted their heads with the few simple words:

”What’d you want, Flash?” Nothing, Peter thinks. Because I’m not Flash. That was when Ned’s eyes widened and Mj’s mouth sat a gap for a moment that seemed like a life time. There was relief, confusion and a low sadness that resigned in both their eyes at seeing Peter. It was like the rest of the world had disappeared and it was the three teens, staring into each other’s eyes. 

Ned could see the pain that was locked away in his best friend. Months and months of pain. He had seen the news this morning. He knew. It didn’t change anything, he thought. Peter was still his Peter, no matter what. And the past four months without him had been hell on earth. Michelle had promised Ned that Peter would be back- that they’d find him soon, but after the first month had passed, both teens had given up hope on ever seeing their friends again. It was demoralizing- laying in bed late at night and realizing Peter was never going to be sleeping next to him, like they did when the two had sleepovers. That he would never have the privilege to be a part of a cereal food fight the morning thy woke up. Looking at Peter now, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the thinness of his arms and legs, the bags under his eyes, Ned thinks- maybe... Peter had been better off dead than going through what he had for months. 

Michelle didn’t know what to think. She handy known Peter as long as Ned had, but the two were very close, still. She remembers what had happened this morning, when she was sitting on her couch, munching on Captain Crunch while her mom watch the news. Mj hand then interested- the news was always boring or just plain sad. That was, until, she heard Peter’s name and looked to see her best friend’s face on the screen. She remembers reading the headline. ‘TONY STARK’S SON, PETER, FOUND IN MOTEL ROOM AFTER MONTHS OF SEARCHING’. Now, at first she had felt unadulterated happiness. They had found him, even after she had lost hope. But as the story continued- Michelle’s world came crashing down.  _“Human Trafficking... beaten and abused... starved... chained to the bed... raped every day for almost five months...”_ And all that happiness had turned to dread.

Dread really was funny, wasn’t it? It happened to everyone.

”Peter?” 

"Hi." After months of not seeing my best friends, all I can say is 'hi'? God, kill me, Peter groaned inwardly, but he still let a small smile escape from his cracked and rapidly drying lips. His tongue darted out, moistening them once more, but still, they felt dry. Ned stood, silently, and found his way around the table, once more standing in front of his friend. Michelle disappeared, the buildings around them disappeared, every other student that surrounded the two were gone. It was just them, and Peter could feel all the sorrow and grief radiating off of Ned before the large boy's facade crumbled and he reached forward, clutching Peter close to his chest. Protectively, even. Peter could feel Ned's heartbeat racing against his chest, and he focused on that. Even as the other boy stuffed his aching head into Peter's shoulder and cried, Peter thought of that heartbeat and embraced it. Peter hugged back.

Ned pulled back, wiping his eyes before anyone could see how watery and bloodshot they were. He looked tired. Exhausted, more like it.

"You were gone for so lo-long," Ned concludes, hands gripping Peter's upper arms tightly, in fear the boy would vanish into thin air. Peter could tell Ned was holding back- not emotionally, but there was something he wasn't telling Peter. The teen wanted to know. As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long, because as tired as Ned was, he spoke with a strong, contempt voice, and what he said broke Peter's heart. "I thought- I thought you have died. I thought I was never going to see you again."

Bitterly, Peter thinks he was better off dead. Ned agrees, but not in the same context. Death was better than anything Peter was subjected too. but Ned was glad his friend felt well enough to come to school. Peter wonders how dirty he must feel under Ned's hands. How boney and greasy he must feel. 

Peter feels cliche when he says, "Well, I'm here now."

The world comes back into view and Michelle makes her way over t the two boys. For once, she looks shaky, unsure. The girl's eyes are glassy and ready to pour out devastating tears. Just by the look she gives him, Peter can tell that she knew- they both knew. Michelle is just so smart (too smart), so when Peter gives her a hesitant smile, she automatically knows what he's thinking. "Yeah,  you are." She muttered, blinking back tears she was to stubborn to let fall. 

"So," Peter starts, ready to bring the lighthearted mood back. It was to dreary now. Peter was to used to dreary and uncomfortable. He needed a change. "What did I miss?"

The three share a short round of bittersweet giggles.

“A lot. Flash fell down the stairs and broke his pinky- he sat there crying on the floor for an hour I swear.” Ned smirked, knowing well that Flash deserved to get hurt. Peter smiled- karma was a bitch. 

“That dick got what he deserves.” Michelle groans, though a small smile escaped her annoyed look.

The three teens talked as if Peter hadn’t been kidnapped and raped for months. Like he had just missed a day because he was sick or something. They talked like everything was normal. Kinda like how Tony had acted as if everything were normal that morning at breakfast. It felt good to relax and hold conversations without feeling the overbearing heaviness or pain crushing him. It was nice.

"We missed you, Peter. A lot," Ned grumbles, yet a smile still held strong on his soft face. "I love you, bro."

"I love you too, loser."

I love you, Peter thinks, but his mouth won’t open, the words won’t tumble out.

Peter relishes in those sweet words. He loved his friends more than they would ever know. However, Peter was getting antsy. They were beating around the bush, sort of speak. Despite the group trying their best to ignore it, the lingering feeling left a bad taste in Peter’s mouth. There was no use in ignoring it any longer. “You guys know what happened. Don’t you?”

The air suddenly got much thinner than it was just moments ago. Peter knew he shouldn’t have asked.

Michelle seemed to snap out of her faze quicker than Ned. She was always quick witted and sharp on her feet. Ned, whole slower, was equally as smart, maybe even smarter than Michelle school wise. Socially, Ned wasn’t as active though.

”Yeah. It was on the news this morning.” Michelle answered, a woeful look upon her face. Empty eyes glancing at the sun-burnt pavement, unable to see the look on Peter's face. It wasn't a surprise to the boy, Tony told him just that morning what had happened. And Peter knew Mj's family- they watched the news every morning. and Ned's mother was always keen on watching her favorite news station, even the days Peter and Michelle slept over. It was important to her, and Peter wasn't going to judge.

He was almost glad his friends found out from the news. It was so much easier than having to force out the words,  _'I was raped everyday',_ to the people he cherished most. 

Ned spoke up now, finally snapping out of his thoughts and focusing on his lifelong friend, who was having a hard time breathing. "Are you... okay?" No, Peter thinks, I'm not okay at all. And despite knowing this, he doesn't speak up immediately. The boy knew how Ned would react if he just straight up told how he felt. It was too much to spring on someone the first day seeing them after so long. Ned and Mj (no matter how hard she might try to convince someone otherwise) were sensitive, especially when it had to do with their friendship. They three had to stick together to deal with Flash and his goons. And of course, they helped with Spider-Man related things all time.

"Yes." Peter answers, and it couldn't be further from the truth.

The two teens stared at Peter with the same look Tony had whenever Peter lied. They knew the truth, he didn't need to elaborate.

Michelle opened her mouth as if to speak, however, it was swiftly cut off.

 The bell for first period rang and the horde of hormonal teens head to the main building. Peter, Ned and Michelle stare up at the building with cold eyes for a moment before following the crowds in. Peter was nervous, and he had every right to be. His first period held the one person he wanted to avoid the most. Flash. Now, Ned and Michelle were no where near his first period, despite their best efforts to get almost every class together. The very first period was no one of them. Thompson had Peter wrapped around his finger all through middle school, and the same followed into high school. Peter could kill Flash with a simple flick of his finger against the boy's skull, yet he still found himself crying at a simple hurtful words. A  _word._

How pathetic, Peter thinks.

He could feel eyes on him as he walked through the crowded halls. Halls he hadn’t seen in so long, he had almost forgotten where his classes were. It was cold inside the school- a stark contrast from the overwhelming heat inside the motel room. He embraced the freezing temperatures, not bothered by the goosebumps running up and down his skin. 

Peter could see the door approaching. English, he believes. English is easy.

Though he had been lax just minutes earlier, the rigidness in his back returns and he found himself curling into his chest. Shoulders hunching over, back slouching, hands having trouble finding wear to go until they settled to cross over his chest. Suddenly, his eyes felt heavy and all he could think of was the amount of eyes burning into his skin. 

Eyes. So many eyes. Gazing over his body- all over his body. Up and down with predatory eyes, admiring every part of him. Tongues coming out to lick thin, dirty lips that would soon be kissing him all over. Mouths that sucked and bit and licked. Mouths that said such disgusting words and-

And, oh god, Peter was sure he was going to drop dead. He was disgusting, thinking of those things in a place like this, in school. He was dirty, dirty, dirty.

The door soon stood in front of the teen. Peter swallowed thickly, willing his unwilling legs to walk forward. No matter how much he wanted to turn around and call Tony, he reminded himself that the man had other things to do than worry about Peter. He had work to do, meetings to go to, business calls to attend. Tony Stark was a busy man. Anyone with eyes go see that.

When Peter walked in, the first thing he noticed was that his seat had been taken. 

I’ve been replaced, Peter observes, a sickly feeling settling in his gut. A heavy, churning feeling. Their was a new girl sitting right at his desk, all her things stacked on said desk. Perfect pens aliened, a purple notebook sitting pretty on the pale wood. The boy turned to the teacher’s desk, only to see the woman sitting their with a soft look. Gentle eyes. She always had gentle eyes, Peter remembers. The teacher glanced to where Peter was admiring, a horrified look settling on her old features. 

Nonetheless, she smiled, standing and taking cautious steps towards the younger boy. She was afraid of him, Peter can tell. The teacher stands next to the boy at the front of the room, the other students staring at the two. Most with sympathetic eyes, a few with mischievous glances.

The class looks exactly the same. The desks are in the same order, the whiteboard has been pies clean, yet there were still stains from previously writing on it. The floor was still white, the walls were still beige. Everyone was in their usual spot they had picked in the beginning of the year, as they should be. There was a flower pot on top of the filing cabinet. The flower inside was purple and white and looked like it was half dying, yet it still held on to what little life it had left. The quote, “Let Your Smile Change The World, But Don’t Let The World Change Your Smile” was still taped up on the wall, surrounded by black printer paper. It was all the same.

It was all perfect.

The bell rung once everyone had entered the room as Peter waits for the teacher to do something. Like kick that girl out of his spot. Five minutes, he waits, before the teacher actually says something.

”Welcome back, Peter. It would appear as though- uh- Jackie has taken your spot,” Yeah, no shit, Peter groans. He wish she’d move the girl who had cruelly stolen his desk while he was away. Did they just assume he’d never be back? Ned and Michelle did. Maybe everyone had given up hope. With that in mind, Peter feels a rock form in his stomach. A spikey, heavy rock. “How about you... take that spot, right in the back!”

She’s using a very childish voice. Cheery, like she’s talking to a toddler. 

Peter maneuvers through the intricate pattern of the desks, trying his best to get to the very back quickly. Once again, he can feel stares glaring at him. Peter knows that they all know. They have to, unless their stupid. Peter thinks that he isn’t in the best predicament right now. No one wants their whole school to know they were trafficked and sexually exploited. That was just cruel. Screw you, news station, Peter curses in his head.

Focused more on the eyes focusing on him, the thin teen fails to notice the foot that had been planted in the middle of the row.

Purposely, may he add.

And when he finally did notice it, it was to late. Peter’s body fumbled to the ground with a loud thud, the wind in his lungs forcefully pushed out with a huff. He could hear the snickers from around him.

The floor was cold. Colder than the air around him. It’s dusty too. Dirty, like him. The tile smells like old plastic, oddly, and Peter wonders how he never noticed that. He scoots back so instead of laying on the ground like a fool, he’s back on his knees.

The boy is utterly humiliated. Anyone would be. He looks up with large, doe-like eyes and sees the one person he hoped to avoid.

Flash Thomson was a cruel kid. Everyone knew that. But what he was about to say, well, even Peter wasn’t prepared for that. That was when the teen thought that this whole thing had gone overboard. It was too much. This wasn’t bullying anymore. This was torture.

”Bet you’re used to being on your knees, huh, Penis?” Peter’s face flushed red at his cheeks, but he went pale all over. Eyes widening impossibly so, breathing coming to a holt. The boy stared long and hard at Flash, but it doesn’t look like the teen. Not to Peter. It seemed as though every person that walked through that motel door was suddenly right in front of him, taunting him. In a vain attempt to console himself inwardly, Peter thinks that he couldn’t even get on his knees when chained to the bed. As flexible as he was, it was nearly impossible.

So, fuck you, Flash.

Peter was still frozen, he realized. Frozen but shaking. His hands- his hands are shaking rapidly, and no matter how much he wants to stop he can’t; his body won’t allow it. His knees are wobbling, he feels like he’s falling but he’s still staring at Flash, eyes not fully there. 

“I-I,” Peter croaks, his voice barely working enough to let those short syllables out. Flash doesn’t look so smug anymore. Maybe it’s the fact that Peter looks somehow paler than before, or the sheer terror in his eyes. Peter finds his way across the room with his eyes, seeing eyes of all kinds staring right on back. Sympathetic, satisfied, horrified and embarrassed. The teen feels tears gather in his eyes and he pondered how everything could have gone so wrong, being it was only the first period of the day. “I-I couldn’t... I couldn’t do-do- I couldn’t do that. I didn’t do that.”

Thompson doesn’t look like he wanted an explanation. No, he looks utterly horrified. Peter regrets trying to explain himself. It just made the whole situation a tad more disturbing. 

Peter feels the teacher’s footsteps approaching, but he wasn’t ready for the hand that laid on his shoulder. So, when he jumped about two feet in the air with a positively terrified screech, he had even scared himself. Looking into the eyes of the adult in front of him, all he saw was uncertainty and fear. He hated when people were afraid of him, and now, it seemed like everyone except his family and friends were practically terrified of him.

The boy felt like wild animal, cornered. 

“Oh, Peter, I’m sorry.” And she was, Peter could tell. That didn’t help the fact that Flash had just triggered one of the most painful memories Peter had the burden of holding on to. A broken memory, one Peter had tried to ignore, but ultimately failed at doing so long ago.

_”On your knees.”_

_”I-I can’t- I can’t.”_

_”I said on your knees, now!”_

_”I cant! I-I- agh- I cant, please! Please I can’t!”_

_”Stupid, slut.”_

_”I-I’m sorry-“_

_”Shut up.”_

_”Please-“_

Peter can feel the pain in his knees, like he did that night. He can feel the pain in his joints, like they had been pushed to far back to the point where his hips ached and his back was so curved, it looked broken. His hamstrings burned, begging for release, but none ever came. Pain in his knees, his thighs, his jaw, his back. Everywhere. Pain.

Soon enough, Peter realized he can’t stay in here. Not in this room filled with people who could- who could easily hold him down. Not surrounded by people who found pleasure in his misery. He can’t stay here. He refused.

”I gotta go.” Peter muttered, almost to himself as he pushed past the frail looking teacher, around the desks and straight out the door. The familiar halls are once again in his sights as he hears the teacher call after him, but he’s already gone. Eyes stinging, jaw aching with a dull pain, though it still felt excruciating when he thought about why it hurt. Sprinting down the hall as fast as his lithe legs can take him. Peter sees the front, double doors standing there in all their glory and relief washed over him. He’s almost out.

He can almost breathe.

The air was far to thin in the halls. He hadn't realized it earlier, when he was walking to class, but now that he's sprinting through the corridor, he realized that the air felt as if he were on top of Mount. Everest. The fact that he hadn't trained in so long did cross his mind, as that would explain his troubled breathing when all he was doing was running. And though his legs ached, he knew it wasn't because of the running. Phantom pains from that night. Bucky used to tell him all about phantom pains, as he occasionally felt it in his arm, though Peter and Tony had tried their best to hook it up to his nervous so he didn't feel the false aches. The man would come into the kitchen some mornings with terrible pain in his arm. Peter never thought he'd be feeling it for himself, but then again, here he was. 

When Peter felt the warmth of the sun shining through the glass doors, he felt pure repose. Pure felicity. Nothing more and nothing less. He felt like he could cry, and when he finally opened that retched door, he did.

Hot, fast, vexatious tears that had become all to familiar to Peter traveled down his cheeks until his eyes went raw. And then, he cried some more, crumbling down on to the front steps into the school, clinging to the hand rail desperately as he stumbled down onto the hard concrete. Peter felt hated. Hated, and embarrassed. And though he knew he deserved every hateful word that had exited Flash's mouth, he couldn't help but think how anyone could be so cruel.

Then, the teen remembered Eugene's eyes. May had always said that eyes were the window into the soul, and Peter couldn't agree more. Hell, he could sense if someone was genuine just by staring into those colored orbs. It was crazy.

Flash had a look Peter had seen before. The other teen had meant what he said, but he didn't  _mean_ it, per say. That's what Peter thought at least. People say things they don't mean all the time. Tony had yelled at him after the ferry accident, he remembered the scene perfectly. More importantly, Peter remembered how he felt after the lecture. It isn't easy, being told off by your mentor and hero, but what hurt even more was the worthlessness the teen had felt during the talk. Having the suit taken away, being told that hundreds of people could have died just because he was to stupid and weak to help, being berated just because he was a kid. It hurt. It hurt way more than anything Peter went through in the motel, and that was saying a lot. Peter was sure Tony's intention wasn't to hurt him or make him feel the way he did, but that was just how it turned out. All he wanted to do was help.

Peter was still waiting for an apology from Tony, but he doubted he would ever get one.

The concrete was hot under him, like sandpaper that had caught on fire. When little ants started to make their way over to the boy, crawling on his shoes, Peter decided he didn't want to be at school anymore. His phone is in his bag. Peter knows that. He also knows Tony is in a meeting right now- one he had to make up since he took the week off. And the kid knows business is more important than anything Peter has to say. 

With that in mind, Peter hauled his worthless body up from the hot ground and took a deep breath, surprised no one had come out to retrieve him. He didn't know where to go, in all honesty. Home was definitely out of the picture- literally the Avengers plus three other superheros lived there. Although, none of them were as scary as Pepper. Now she was a force to be reckoned with. Realizing his freedom would soon come to an end if he didn't get a move on, Peter glanced back at his school (the school he begged to go to just yesterday) and stumbled along towards the entrance. Entering the busy streets, citizens rushed past him without giving the crying boy a second glance. That was just how some New Yorkers were, Peter wasn't offended. He knew how they would react. Even the people walking on the streets didn't care about him. So why should anyone else?

As Peter made his way through the crowded streets, his mind flashed to a very well-known spot just a block from the school. The subway station. When he had lived with his Aunt May, he had taken the train to school every morning. And, he just happened to know it was one of the most perfect hiding spots. Let's just say, tracking someone’s phone required an internet connection. You don't get that under ground.

Peter continued his walk, looking up at the towering buildings and estimating how tall they really were. It was harmless, the estimating. Until, a rather dark thought crossed Peter's mind, and that scared him more than any bully could. He wondered if he fell, would it be enough to kill him, given his abilities. Staring at a rather tall building, the boy's racing thoughts came to a halt. All but one. An idea he had tried not to think about, but just kept popping up. If he wasn't having sex with someone willing to pay, was he even worth a life anymore? The thought seemed almost stupid in a way, but still Peter regarded it as the most serious thing he had ever dreamed up. Maybe he wasn’t worth living.

New York survived months without Spider-Man. His family and friends made it through months without Peter. The world didn’t fall apart, time didn’t stop.

Those purple and white flowers still died.

So, who’s to say if Peter were gone forever anything would change?

Shaking the overwhelming feeling of darkness that came crashing over him, Peter shook his head and walked off. Before he knew it, the entrance to the subway sat in front of him, as crowded and smelly as he remembered it. The boy walked down the stairs and looked for a nice, empty bench to sit at. And, as a rare stroke of luck, one somewhat clean, abandoned bench sat at the very end of the large corridor. Peter made his way over, wiping his eyes one last time to make sure the tears had dried off. 

Peter pulled a jacket from his back pack. It was black, raincoat material on the outside with warm fleece on the inner workings. The teen wrapped it around himself, hoping it would make him seem smaller and stand out a little less. Among a train station full of bustling adults, a fifteen year old stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Time went by as quickly as it could, the hours ticking by as people came and went, no one sparing him a passing glance. 

He ignored the growling of his stomach and instead focused on the vibrations caused by the subway train approaching and leaving the station with shuttering holts. Peter saw all kinds of people. Business men and women chatting away on important phone calls. Mothers dragging around their wining children. Hobos searching for a new place to live. People dressed in outfits that ranged from  weird costumes to barely underwear. As crowded as it was, Peter could pick out certain individuals, study them, and then move onto the next.

Before he knew it, the time when school usually got out was already long past. It was already starting to get dark outside.

He hadn’t noticed the many texts Ned and Michelle had sent him. Or the twenty calls Tony had, after seemingly have heard he wasn’t in school. Pepper called four times, Happy three and still Peter had somehow missed all of it.

Peter stared at his phone, each text and each ‘Missed Call’ banner that popped up mocking him. And for a moment, Peter’s mind went blank. The teen’s eyes went hazy, mouth forming a thin line, his whole body tensing. Horrible, horrible thoughts rushed through his head at seeing the frantic and worried texts that were left behind from his friends and family. And even after seeing the concern they held for him, a voice inside his head was telling him they wouldn’t care if he was dead. It would be easier for him if he just disappeared.

Tony wouldn’t have to worry about him. Pepper wouldn’t fuss or fret about having a child. The Avengers wouldn’t have to look out for Spider-Man during big missions. Ned and Mj would be able to find new, better friends without him holding them back.

Peter thought about the building. The tall one he knew he would die if he fell from. 

It wasn’t that far from here.

And so, Peter had made of his mind. With lethargic, almost robotic movements, Peter stood from his comfy spot and walked to the entrance, bro even bothering to take his bag with him. The walk to the building was short, yet it felt like hours had gone by. The teen took one last glance up at the brick structure before signing heavily and heading into an abandoned alley wait right beside it. Making sure no one was looking, Peter began his assent, clinging to the building with the tips of his fingers. In all honesty, he was surprised his powers still worked considering he was malnourished. He didn't focus on his powers though. No, he focused on the sun that was slowly starting to go down as nighttime overtook the city. It was beautiful- the sunset.

It was a shame he'd never see it again. But this was important for his family's happiness and well-being. It didn't matter if he died, his life wasn't worth much at this point. Peter was just a toy meant to be used over and over again until finally, it breaks. 

It was unfortunate, he'd never go to school again. His first day back and he’s already snapped. Typical. Not unusual of someone like him; someone who was weak and pathetic. It still shocked him that even after hearing how much his friends had missed him, and hearing them say ‘I love you’, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to die still took him. As selfish as it was, the thought that this had to be done was still ever present. 

For Pepper, the woman who wanted her own baby, not some adopted teenager. For the Avengers who never really wanted him, but got stuck with him. For Happy, who always complained about having to drive him around everyday. For Ned and Mj, who were held down by him for so many years.

And to Tony, who never wanted him as a son, but was forced to take care of him anyway.

But still love shin like his own.

The top of the building was chilly. The sun’s heat slowly fading into the background as Peter found his way over to the ledge. Overlooking the busy street below, Peter observed the citizens walking around. From families out for an evening stroll to employees going home for the day. No one noticed him, sitting up there with a solemn look upon his vaunt face. 

Peter remembered what Ray had said, when they stopped at the gas station months back. He wasn’t even worth a name, let alone a life.

With one last inhale of the dirty, cool air, Peter stood from his spot on the concrete, empty eyes surveying the world he was about to leave. Internally, he gave one last goodbye to everyone he had ever loved, even if they didn’t love him back. 

Fear rushed through his veins as tears pricked the poor boy’s eyes. The unknown stood before him, and though he was absolutely terrified about what was to greet him, he knew it was better than here. Wherever he was going, he knew he’d never have to have sex with anyone ever again. He’d never have to touch another person, and they’d never touch him back. The feeling of never being safe wouldn’t exist where he was going. One last look. One last breath. One last goodbye. And with a single step, Peter fell. 

And this time, there were no webs to catch him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I feel like this chapter is unnecessarily long but I love it anyways. Get ready for Peter and Bruce bonding time ;) Anyways, I took some of your guy’s advice and I’m no longer friends with the ones I had- those toxic bitches. I’m happy, you’re happy, we’re all happy! I’m also surviving off of coffee and walnuts.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! Lots of love- lmc <3


	15. That’s My Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce was never one to burst out in anger and not turn into a raging green monster. It was in his blood- when he was angry, Hulk came out, that’s just how he was. That’s how it always was.
> 
> Peter learns that people can change. If even for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys like the cliffhanger I left you on last chapter? ;) Sorry to leave you hanging there!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Suicide/Depression  
> -Mentions of Past Domestic Abuse  
> -Mentions of Alcohol Abuse  
> Bruce is a life saver... literally. He's a saint in this. A nervous, self-conscious saint. Just like Peter. He also does some crazy shit at the end that’s kinda bad ass and uncharacteristic for his person, but whatever. He’s an angry boi.

“I can’t believe it.” Tony’s usually tan face was abnormally pale, scars protruding from his face, appearing light pink in the white, fluorescent lights. The pure brightness of the overhead bulbs caused his cheekbones to stand high and mighty, like the sharp edge of a knife. Some may say he looked gaunt, but his appearance was only caused by the sheer exhaustion he had gone through the last few hours. The man looked like he would double over any minute, maybe even throw up right there on the clean, prestigious wooden floors. Tony cradled his head in his hands, attempting to fight off the incoming migraine that was forming in his left temple- however, it was to no avail.

In all honesty, the poor man looked like a zombie.

Pepper stood just to the side of him, watching with overwrought, fretful eyes. Her frown sat low on her face, a sign of the sorrow she felt.

The past few years or so, Tony had done all in his power to protect Peter. He had created dozens of enhancements into the boy’s suit so he wouldn’t get even a single scratch on his body. The lonely nights the engineer spent trying to configure the Spider-Man suit to better help the young hero was all for not. Tony had spent months observing Peter so he knew when the boy was acting off, though he did try to hide his problems most of the time.

And yet, the one person Tony couldn’t protect his child from, was himself.

The older man couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as his son. Not because he hated him, but because he loved him too much to see him in so much pain. Physical pain could be fixed- emotional pain like the one Peter endured, could not, and that’s where Tony went wrong. The genius could create suits fit for super heroes, Artificial Intelligence that was actually sentient and any other gadget or gizmo that was beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, and yet, he couldn’t fix one teenagers mind.

To Tony, he was a failure in every sense of the word. 

He failed as a friend, a mentor and a father all at once. It bothered him that even though he dedicated this portion of his life to protecting his son, and still, the boy was hurt beyond repair. It was absurd.

Tony had saved Peter, and that may be the only thing he ever did right. 

Watching the boy fall, frail limbs breaking like twigs under the wind pressure as he fell from the business building, pedestrians below watching in utter horror as his body cascaded down ungraciously, was pure hell. Tony still can’t get the image of Peter’s calm, emotionless face as he fell, the numbness radiating off of him like the happiness that once had done the same. The sidewalk had grown closer and closer, and still, the father had gathered his boy in his arms and practically crushed him in his grip. He wasn’t about to let go for anything. 

The wind was chilly, even more so with the constant shiver that ran through the older man’s spine. However, he was quick to get his adopted son home, where he was safe.

Though it was cruel, Tony had made the decision to lock the boy in his room with no way to escape through the windows or vents. Instead of speaking to him, the man simply left his child to his own thoughts, which seemed to be a bad idea from the start. But as of right now, Tony couldn’t even look at the kid. 

Pepper glanced around her and her husband’s shared bedroom, gulping as her eyes once again settled on her distraught lover as he sat on their bed, crying. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, which was unusual for the confident woman. Peter was just as much her son as he was Tony’s, but even she could admit the connection between the two males was stronger than anything the boy had with anyone else. It wasn’t unexpected, Peter clung to any father figure he was lucky enough to have, and after so many parental figures he lost, it wasn’t odd to see him hanging around Tony more often. That’s why this was so difficult for her to make better. She could barely keep herself together, let alone help piece her husband back like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

”I can’t believe it.” Tony repeated, wiping his eyes with a single swipe.

Pepper rest her delicate hand on his shoulder in a failed attempt to comfort him. Needless to say, it did little to help the poor man.

”I know.” She concluded, unable to form the right words.

”Fuck-“ Tony sobbed, kicking his heel back into the wooden frame of the bed, nearly chipping the wood with his bare feet. He did it again, just to feel the pain, knowing he deserved it after failing Peter so badly. “I can’t- I can’t... fuck, P-Pep, why?”

She didn’t know. She really couldn’t figure it out. Peter had been getting better, Pepper thought. He was going to school, and making conversation and even cracking jokes. Peter was okay, he truly seemed okay. So what had happened? The ginger woman stayed silent, unable to compete a full sentence, let alone a single word. The tension in the room was too thick, and for a moment, it almost seemed like Peter really had died. Pepper never thought she’d have to mourn over her child, but here she was, and the boy wasn’t even dead!

”It’s going to be okay, Tony. Peter’s a strong kid, he’ll get through this.”

The man didn’t believe what his wife said for a minute. Peter defiantly was not okay, and if she even thought he was, well, than she was just a fool. Tony glared at her, just between his trembling fingers so she couldn’t see. He couldn’t do that to her- she couldn’t see the hatred burning deep in his retinas. Peter may be strong, he was without a doubt, but he wouldn’t be okay. Never. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

”Friday,” The hero called out, ignoring his wife for the time being. “Wh-What’s Peter doing?”

The AI answered a moment later after presumably assessing the boy’s room to see what exactly he was up to. “He’s sleeping, sir. Would you like me to wake him?”

”No, not yet,” Tony answered with a frown, once again cradling his head as he got lost deep in his thoughts. Enough beating around the bush, he thought with a grimace, face this head on, you coward. “Actually- Friday, wake him. Tell him to meet me in the commons. Get everyone else too... they deserve to know what happened.”

”Right away, sir.”

”Thanks, doll.”

Pepper’s frown somehow deepened, which seemed almost impossible until now. She looked down at Tony, eyes holding mistrust and confusion.

”Tony, what are you doing?” 

Tony stood from his sulking position and cleared his throat, wiping the last of his tears away. He glanced at Pepper, eyes wide, frightened almost. She had seen that look before, and Pepper immediately knew she wasn’t able to stop what was about to happen. She only prayed her assumptions were wrong.

Please, please be wrong, she begged internally. 

“I’m talking to Peter.” He sniffed, looking as if he were about to start weeping again. Somehow, he kept his composure enough to begin his trek to the door to the room. However, he was stopped by a dainty hand that came down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks with no force whatsoever. Pepper just had that effect.

He wasn’t going to abandon his kid. Not like Howard had done to him. 

Tony learned about tough love from day one, and he also knew that it worked. But he also knew that his child didn't respond to yelling and being criticized negatively. Maybe Pepper didn't know this, but Tony wasn't going to waltz on in and started berating Peter with every ounce of passion in his body.

The older man ignored the woman, choosing to simply shake off her hand and exit the room, Pepper running off after him. The hallways seemed far colder than they were hours ago, and maybe it was just his nerves getting to him, but the billionaire could feel goosebumps begin to rise on his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. For a brief moment, the air felt thinner, harder to inhale, however, the feeling was fleeting and Tony regained his composure and continued to the commons. If Pepper noticed the way he slowed, or how his breath caught in his throat, she didn’t acknowledge it.

When the two arrived, the only person that was supposed to be the room that wasn’t there, was Peter.

The others, even Bruce, who had came out of his lab (Tony called it his “nerd cave”) just for the occasion. Whether it be on the coach, floor or the bar stools connecting to the granite counter tops, everyone sat, waiting patiently. The air was thick, a stark contrast to the air in the hallways, and Tony couldn't help but feel a bit dizzy upon entering the room. It was like walking into a foreign place for the first time- uncomfortable, perplexing and eerie. Tony never felt that way before, he had always entered places with confidence and poise, but now, he just felt chills running up and down his spine. He didn't know what to say... he  _always_ knew what to say.

That was the scary part. Tony felt helpless, but selfish, almost, that he was feeling such a thing after what Peter went through. If he felt helpless now, Tony couldn’t even imagine how helpless Peter felt, chained to a bed, used over and over again with no way to escape. 

Screw me, Tony thought to himself.

”Tony, what the hell is going on?” Rhodey’s voice rang out in the otherwise silent room. He stood from his spot on the couch, approaching his friend with a stern look. Tony frowned, once again it was getting harder to breathe. “What happened to Peter?”

Too much, the billionaire concluded in his head. The air seemed so thin, yet so thick it was tangible, and maybe it was just the tension in the room, but he thought he would faint any second now. Tony was devastated, as most parents would be knowing their kid tried to kill themselves. Once again, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what everyone wanted to hear from him. He always had the answer, but this time, he doesn’t. And maybe that was scarier than not being able to breathe.

”I’ll explain it when he gets here.” 

 "When he gets here? Oh, nononono. Tony, I swear if you don't- I think we deserve to know what happened, at least. That's the  _least_ you could do. Y'know. I haven't seen you cry in a long time Tony," Rhodey paused, placing his hands on his hips, quirking them out slightly, his mouth open in slight disbelief. He scoffed. "And when you walked in here crying enough tears to fill the Hudson three times over... that was just about the scariest thing I've seen in awhile," Behind his friend, Tony could see the others staring with sad, off expressions, agreeing silently with what Rhodey was saying. Guilt washed over the billionaire, and now, all he wanted to do was go to his room and cry. He had never meant to hurt hid friends, or Peter for that matter. "So don't walk in here acting like  _that_ wasn't a big deal, okay? You can't leave us in the dark, Tony. We're worried and Peter too."

Tony let out a deep breath, one he hadn't known he had been holding. He could feel the sweat building on his forehead, and vaguely, he realized Rhodey was right. 

They deserve to know, Tony reminded himself. They deserve to know, yet he didn't know how to force the words out of his mouth. How could anyone ever say something like  _that?_ It was impossible, surely. Even the ever confident Tony Stark could't let those words exit his mouth, so how could anyone else?

Tony whined.  _Whined._ A high-pitched, girly whine. Tears welled in his dark eyes as he bit the inside of his cheek so hard it hurt. He was almost sure he was about to bite off a chunk of flesh when finally, his mouth opened involuntarily and he spoke those wretched words. "Peter tried to kill himself."

Short and not-so-sweet. And still, those five little words had a powerful impact on each occupant in the room. As bleak as it sounded however, some couldn't lie and say they hadn't expected it. Well, maybe not  _expect_ it, but they had known Peter was depressed the second they rescued him from the motel. It was obvious. And though they wouldn't admit it, some even noticed Peter's odd behavior before he was kidnapped. Whether it because of all of the loses Peter had went through so early, from both his biological parents, to Ben, to May, or because of the constant bullying at school, or the hundred of other things it could be, no one knew which caused the sudden change in mood.

The Avengers remember when they first met the young boy. They remember how his smile had immediately lifted the mood in the stuffy room. It had been after a particularly hard battle against some alien race hell-bent on taking over Earth. The usual. Calling Spider-man out into the battle had been a spur of the moment thing, as Tony put it. In other words, the team was losing. Badly. There as nothing wrong with some extra cavalry, and Spider-Man just happened to be the closest superhero (and best, in Tony's opinion). It had happened before May's passing, when everything was okay, and as normal as it could be for a teenage superhero. 

Steve was the first to approach the hero after all the aliens were slaughtered.

 From then on (after the first couple of weeks where everyone was appalled that Tony brought a fourteen year old into a dangerous fight) the Avengers had grown on the boy. They became illegitimate uncles and aunts, which helped the boy recover from the death of both Ben and eventually, May.

While it didn’t fill the void, it helped patch up the hole. 

Peter walked in a minute later, hair frizzy, eyes bloodshot and watery, clothes disheveled. His glassy eyes wondered to his father, softening when he saw the worry etched into the older man’s face. Guilt consumed him. While Tony didn’t seem to angry, but he didn’t seem to happy either.  That was expected- Tony was just a worried guy most of the time.

When the boy’s eyes drifted across the open room, he caught sight of his pseudo family. By the looks on their faces, Peter already knew what had happened.

He wasn’t angry. It was the inevitable.

”Sit down, Petey.” Tony said in the sweetest voice he could muster up. Just as Peter was thinking, he wasn’t angry, necessarily, just confused and anxious. He had learned from past mistakes that Peter didn’t respond well to anger. He was going to fix this. Even if he could fix everything, this would be the one thing he would get right.

”Yessir.” The use of such a formal name gave a painful ping to Tony’s heart. The fear that he had broken his boy was almost to much to bear. 

Peter sat on the least populated spot on the couch, but it didn’t matter where he moved, the eyes of each inhabitant followed his every move. The boy gulped silently, sweat already pooling I’m the palms of his hands as he thought of the conversation to come. It was times like these he really wished he had been killed during his captivity. He wouldn’t have to try to kill him self, he wouldn’t be reprimanded, he wouldn’t be humiliated and he wouldn’t have to see his father’s pain any longer. 

I won’t jump off another building, he thinks. No, I won’t. 

Something Peter had learned from living with Stark is that the only times Tony’s ever truly happy is when he’s thinking about Peter or Pepper, or hanging out with them. It brings him nothing but joy and knowing he had such an effect on people made Peter’s heart swell. Knowing he could make someone just as sad however, was one of the reasons he had decided to jump. It was a lot of burden to carry, he decided.

”Peter, I- we- can get you help. I realized that m-maybe I can’t get you through everything. Not by myself. And... it hurts, not being able to help your kid,” Tony wished he hadn’t invited back the others. This seemed like a conversation he rather have in private. However, it was to late to change the past. “But I need to make one thing clear, Peter. Doing what you tried to do tonight is not and never will be the answer. I’ve lost a lot of people, Petey and I-I... I can’t lose you too. Okay? And if I need to lock you in your room for the rest of your life, I will. Don’t think for a second I won’t.”

Peter lets his father’s words sink in. He knew Tony loved him when he walked off the edge of that building. It was in his mind when he decided it was time for his life to come to an end. However, Peter hadn’t even considered how much lose the older man had in his life. And it was more than just death that he had snatched away from him. It was his dignity, his innocence, his will to live. And still, here he was, living the life he had wanted with his family. A wife and a kid that he loved. Maybe, if Tony could do it, so could Peter. His father was strong, but still stumbled. Peter had lost his parents, his uncle and his aunt, and then, his innocence all before turning sixteen. But that didn’t mean he had to give up just yet. 

The teen knew, deep in his heart, that he still had that old spark left inside himself. That last little flicker of hope.

And he’d do anything to turn that flicker into a flame. 

“I-I want help.”

”I’ll get you help. You can have a hundred therapists ten tons of ice cream if that’s what you want. Anything you want, you can have, Petey-Pie.”

Glancing around the room, Peter realized that the only place he felt comfortable with, to talk about his feelings, was with his family. It didn’t matter who, but anyone would suffice. The thought of spilling his guts to some random person was scary in all honesty. And besides, each member of his family had at least a few traumatic experiences throughout their lives, they knew how to deal with them.

None of them had tried to kill themselves though, Peter thinks, though he couldn’t be more wrong.

In fact, the person he’d seek help from had his own fair share of dark thoughts. And while they weren’t because of anything related to what Peter went through, they were just as bad. Maybe because he knew no one loved him when he tried suicide, while Peter was thinking of how much his family loved him when he jumped.

Peter’s eyes settle on Bruce. The poor man looks uncomfortable (he always did) and sad (he always did). 

The silence carries on for a few more seconds, no one knowing what to do or what was going on. Even Thor, the loudest of the bunch, sat still and quiet as ever, unable to comprehend what had just gone down. All he knew was that the previous little spider had done something very bad. Very, very bad. 

“Bruce can help me.” Peter said, confident in the genius’ abilities. 

While Peter loved Bruce with his whole heart, he wasn’t as close as he’d like to be to the genius. The doctor just liked his alone time. He liked to deal with his own problems by himself, and just like Peter, it was because he didn’t want to burden others with his own problems.

The boy seemed so sure Bruce could help him get back on his feet, however, said doctor had other plans.

”M-Me? Oh, uh-“ Eyes flickered over to the nervous man, waiting for his response. They all seemed pretty okay with the fact that Peter had chosen Bruce to help him. Of course, that was because they all knew he had some experience in Peter’s current predicament. “I’m not so sure.”

”Nonsense!” Tony interrupted, his somber mood switching to excited in a single instance. “You, my friend, are the saddest fellow in this room. Perfect for helping someone! Don’t you want to defend you title as saddest man alive?”

Bruce glared daggers at the other man.

The mood change has been all to abrupt for Bruce to follow. How someone could go from undoubtedly sad to so excited in a split second was beyond him.

“No. I want to help, I just don’t think I’m the most... qualified.” The disheveled man sent Peter a glance, only to the boy looking at him with expectant, trusting eyes. Trust wasn’t something Bruce was used too, seeing as though he could turn into a huge rage monster at the snap of a finger. But the way the boy looked into his eyes, Bruce could tell he didn’t trust anyone else with his feelings. And that gave Bruce butterflies in his stomach. 

“Bruce,” Tony started, a smile gracing his lips. He chuckled. “I don’t think Peter would want anyone qualified to help him- he just wants you. Come on, maybe it’s time to let Hulk lay low and let out the Incredible Sulk for awhile.”

Bruce smiled when he heard light chuckling from his friends in the background. 

The trusting eyes, the major confidence boost, the butterflies in his tummy, how could he say no?

”Okay,” The genius muttered with a small grin. “I’ll help.” 

Bruce has nothing against aiding Peter in his recovery, but his own self confidence, or lack of, made it seem like he wouldn’t be much of any help. However, any chance to help out a family member was one he would take. He finally had a real family and he would do anything in his power not to ruin that. And besides, Peter was a good kid. He side serves to be happy. 

Peter smiled softly at Bruce, grateful eyes glistening with happy tears.

”Thanks, Doctor Banner.”

”Of course, Peter.”

The room sat in a comfortable silence for a while. It was a stark contrast from the stuffy rooms so quiet you could hear a pin drop. This silence was comforting. Warm and inviting.

However, the silence that brought a smile to Peter’s face was soon interrupted by a very loud- and annoying- phone ring tone. Pepper’s hand went immediately to her pocket, pulling it out to see it was her phone making the obnoxious sound. She chuckled nervously.

”Uh, sorry. I gotta take this.” The woman left the room in a hurry. A business call at the worst of times.

Natasha, ignoring the interruption, faced Peter with a tight smile gracing her face. She was obviously startled by what had just gone down. She glanced over Peter’s body, taking in his skeleton like structure and pale skin tone. Four months, she reminds herself. He hadn’t seen the sun for four straight months. Maybe they could go to the beach soon, Tony always had his Malibu house for them to vacation too. They all needed a vacation after all the commotion through the last few days.

She’d ask Stark later, when everything was calmed down.

”Итак, Брюс, а? Хороший выбор, маленький паук. Вы будете на ногах, прежде чем вы это знаете. Просто ... не делай ничего радикального, детка. Мы все тебя любим. Не забудь это. Даже Брюс, даже если он мало говорит или показывает это.” Natasha kept her conversation with Peter in her native language, knowing it would provide privacy for them both. Also, Peter just happened to be nearly fluent in Russian, thanks to online school and Duolingo. Something about making sure he wasn’t murdered by a bird, if she remembers Peter’s words correctly. 

Peter smiled- he knew that’s Bruce loved him. Even if the man happened to be more reclusive then the rest of them, he was still open to hanging out with anybody who asked. 

“Я знаю. Спасибо, Нат. Я тоже тебя люблю.” Peter smiled, though his heart still ached dully.

Despite all the kind words and support his family offered him, something sinister still lurked under Peter’s skin. He felt dirty, like always, but this time, it was different. It was guilt, prominent and loud. Looking at all of his family members, who were either smiling at the resolution or still in shock over the news only fed to the flames. How could he put his family through something like this? How could he ever think they didn’t want him? Peter thinks back about when he was chained to the bed, back at the motel. All those months of waiting, Peter nearly thought his family was never going to find him- he had lost all hope after the first month. But they did.

They did find him. And, yeah, maybe it was too late, but he was home now.

He has help now as well. Peter didn’t have to feel the hopelessness he felt all those days he spent in the bed. He didn’t have to relive the fateful day he realized that no one who walked through that door was going to help him. They were all heartless, too selfish to think of the boy as they raped him. Some of them may not even think what they did was rape. 

The teen thinks back on the man that walked through the door that one night. The man he remembered from Tony’s like of work.

Joesph McLough. A very important man. 

A man that Peter knew Tony was close with. And if Tony ever knew what that man had done to Peter, not only would their friendship end all to abruptly, but that man’s whole company would go up in flames. Tony had a funny way of canceling people before they even knew what had happened.

And so the question still remained: should he tell his father about what McLough has done? 

Peter frowned, though it was unnoticed by the others in the room. All of the sudden, the room was nothing but stuffy and the air turned thick. Tangible, even. Peter could see every dust particle floating around his head, could  _hear_ the dust whirling around. The boy said nothing, instead trying to focus on nothing but his finger taping rhythmically against his thigh. 

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap...

”I’m going to take a shower.”

Tony glanced over at his son, eyes filled to the brim with worry and exhaustion. The older man looked towards the clock, forming slightly.

”At 2:34 in the morning? Why not wait until later? Wouldn’t it want to, oh I don’t know, sleep?” 

Peter contemplated that for a moment. Sleep was an option. However, the feeling of swollen tear ducts and a congested nose was definitely not something Peter wanted to sleep with. A shower was in order. A very hot shower. With a shower sponge- a rough one. One rough enough to scrape the nasty off of him and remove the feeling of dirtiness off of him. A long shower. Very long. 

“No, I think I’m just going to, uh, just going to take a shower. Then I’ll go to bed. Promise”. Peter gave Tony a convincing smile, which the billionaire returned his own to the boy. 

“Alright. Night, Pete. Pep and I will be in when you’re ready for bed.”

”Okay, Mister Stark.”

There was something comforting in that name. Something more personal then ‘Tony’, as surprising as that sounds. It almost seemed like no one else could say that name and it would the same as when Peter said it. Peter found himself calling his adoptive father that when he was nervous or feeling down. Tony had picked that up real quick, which was why when he heard that name, he knew he’d have to check in with the boy soon. After he had gotten into her and was comfy. Then, and only then, would Tony walk into his room and lay in bed with him, nothing but a vessel for Peter to talk to.

”I bid thee goodnight, Son of Stark! May your dreams be merry and the stars burn bright in your favor!” Thor bellowed, catching Peter in a breathtaking hug that emptied the smaller male’s lungs in an instant. 

God had he missed stuff like this. 

“Uh, thanks, Thor!”

Clint approached next, a sheepish smile upon his face. He chuckled lightly while Peter tried to get his breath back. 

“Night, kid. Sleep tight.”

”Thank you, Mister Barton.”

Clint smiled, the same one he reserved for only his children and Laura. Peter felt honored to have that same grin sent his way- maybe he really did have a family now. “It’s Clint, kid. Don’t make me feel any older than I already am.”

Peter snickered softly, turning to the Avengers that hadn’t said bud their farewells.

”Sleep tight, son.”

”Night, punk. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

Steve and Bucky concluded, topping it off with a familiar noogie from the longer haired male. Peter smiled at the soldiers, a feeling of pride rushing through him as he realized that two soldiers (actual soldiers during a world war!) were part of his family and loved him. Hell, they were proud of him. Yes, proud! And knowing two army soldiers had high hopes for him was a feeling Peter still couldn’t shake.

”Thank you, Mister Rodgers. Mister Barnes.”

Bucky smirked, snickered slyly at the boy. Peter was just too good. “Kids got a knack for calling people 'mister', aye, Stark?"

Tony nodded proudly, a satisfied smile on his face. tears still welled in his eyes, but they were easily held back. Everything's okay now, he thinks to himself, no need to cry. The billionaire adverts his eyes from Bucky's and over to Peter. This kid looks dead. Pale, sweaty, bloodshot eyes and swollen tear ducts. Too thin to be even considered remotely healthy. But he  _was_ alive. And Tony planned to keep it that way.

"I teach my kind manners, which your mother obviously did  _not._ " Tony laughs, ignoring Bucky's death glare. The mood had changed so drastically, it was almost to overwhelming. From scared, astonished and sad expressions to joyous, relieved ones. It was so much.

Peter said goodnight for the last time that dark and foreboding day and retreated back to his room hastily. A shower had never felt better. The only part of the shower that seemed too scary to face was the fact that he had to be  _naked_ to get thoroughly clean. Peter had been bare from clothes for so long, the thought of feeling that constant chill despite the motel being so hot was almost frightening.  He cherished his clothes- those pieces of fabric that hid his scarred body from the world. It was his safety net, a reminder that he didn't have to follow the same rules as he did back with Ray. He had the right to be cozy in a clean, fresh smelling bed, dressed in the softest pajamas money could buy. There was no demand for his body to be on display at all times. Peter had privacy now. The ability to finally be alone with himself and not have to worry about the next threat that walked through that damned door. No one would hurt him here. Not when he had his body fully clothed and his family protecting him.

The teen contemplated showering with his boxers on, but decided against it. He had to clean  _everywhere_. He was dirty  _everywhere_.

The water was scorching to the touch. It had to be if he wanted to disinfect himself. If he couldn't scrub away those everlasting hands on his body, maybe he could burn them off. Without wasting another precious second, Peter hopped into the water. The feeling of itchiness scattered down his pale skin, pricking and prodding at the fleshiest part of his body. His thighs, his stomach burned as the boiling water scolded his skin with every drop. Pins and needles poked at the body on his previously cold feet so much so, the boy had to alternate on which appendage he stood on. 

The violent scrubbing at his skin went on for another fifteen minutes before the shower stopped by itself and Friday's voice rang through the large bathroom.

"Boss has requested I put a time limit on your future showers, and I'll remind him to put a limit on the temperature too. It would appear as though your skin in hot to the touch. May I suggest a cooling cream for the burns?”

”No, god no, Friday. I’m fine.” Peter assured the AI. Even if she were just a disembodied voice with no real brain, she always sounded to emotional when she spoke. Whether it be worry or glee or disappointment. And even though Peter knew she didn’t really care, Friday was still the only Artificial Intelligence to  _act_ like she was concerned. To Peter, she wasn’t just a robot. She was part of the family. The snarky comment about reminding Tony to set a temperature in the shower had been proof of that. 

“Okay, Peter. The cream is located on the third shelf from the right if you need it.”

Peter smiled, a small, thankful smile.

”Thanks, Fri.”

”Of course, Peter.”

Peter made his way back into his bedroom, towel wrapped protectively around his body to shield his bare ness from the world (he didn’t care if no one was in the room, he just felt to exposed). His eyes glanced at the bedroom door that led into the hall. It was unlocked. Anyone could walk in at any time. Anyone. Lock it, Peter told himself, though he couldn’t force his feet to walk in the direction of the door. Half of his brain was telling him that he was in danger if that damned door was unlocked. The other half, the one he tried to listen to, told him no one would hurt him here. No one. 

“Friday, lock the door.”

The ‘click’ of the door locking was all Peter heard as he sat for another moment in complete silence. 

The boy moved back to his closet, picking out an old SI hoodie (courtesy of Tony and the fact that it didn’t fit the older man anymore) and a pair of pajama pants that used May’s. Peter fluke it odd how they fit him, considering they were made for a female and May was skinnier than him (before all of... this), but they fit almost perfectly. They smelled like apples. The old laundry detergent.

Apples. Green and sour. May’s favorite scent.

Peter closed his eyes and inhaled. A mixture of that amazing green apple scent and the homey, warm smell of Tony flooding his senses. He loved them both so much.

The young teen waited in his bed, sheets up close to his chin, his body constricted into a small ball as he waited for Pepper and Tony to arrive. It had been a long day. From going to school for an astonishing five minutes, to people watching at the subway station, to actually climbing up a building and jumping off... yeah. It has been a long day.

The ceiling was not a popcorn ceiling, Peter realizes. He couldn’t make fun little shapes in the bumps or hunt to make little faces. Not like he could do in his old apartment. Maybe it was for the best. His imagination was too wild, too out of this world. But at the same time, Peter didn’t think his imagination was anything to brag about. Now that he’s seen reality- the reality of life and his life- there was no more getting lost in his own little mind. It was just him and the world, the real world. No more dreams, no more hopes. 

The door handle jiggles slightly and that’s when Peter remembered that he had locked it. For safety, of course. He geared a voice from behind the wood and recognized it as Tony’s asking Friday to unlock it.

Peter closed his eyes.

Tony entered with Pepper softly following. 

“Peter?” His father questioned in a quiet, unsure voice. It was so not Tony-like it caused Peter to physically shiver. Pepper has once said that Peter was the one thing that could break Tony’s usual demeanor, and now? Well, now, the teen thinks that’s a hundred percent true. “You awake, kid?”

No, Peter thinks. I’m not awake. I’m dead. Leave me here to rot for the rest of forever. 

Peter knows both parents are frowning without even opening his eyes. He pretends to be asleep even still. His only movements the simple inhaled and exhales as he breathed deeply. Just like how he would if he were unconscious.

”He must’ve been tired, hun,” Pepper concludes. Peter can hear her hand rubbing up and down Tony’s clothed arm. The woman had left earlier- to take a call, she said. A call from who, Peter didn’t know. He hopes it wants anything serious. “Let’s leave him be. I don’t want to wake him, it’s the first time he’s gotten any real sleep.”

Pepper speaks the truth. 

“Okay,” Though Tony agrees, the man’s steps get closer to the boy’s bed until he’s right next to it. Peter can feel his father’s presence just above his face, hovering. Peter knows what’s next, and he can’t wait for it. “Goodnight, bud. Sleep tight,” And so, a gentle, loving kiss is laid on his forehead, Tony’s warm hand pulling his curls back to plant the token. The next words make Peter want to cry. They always do. “I love you.”

Pepper leaves the same beautiful kiss on his cheek and rubs her delicate, warm hand over where she kissed him. “Love you, darling.”

The two leave with Tony’s last words being, “Friday, turn the lights off and... and leave the door unlocked.”

”Yes, boss.” Her soft voice answers in a whisper.

The two are gone, and finally, Peter opens his eyes and stares at the wall ahead of him. Tony said he’d give Peter as many therapists as he needed to get better, and still, the boy picked one quiet man with anger issues. A fine choice, if you asked him. 

Peter’s fingers come to pinch the bridge of his nose. The overwhelming need to do something- anything- overtaking him. He needed to walk, to talk to just move his body. Sleep wasn’t going to come easy, not on a night like this. Not when he knows that he should be dead right now. And the fact that he isn’t is just the craziest thing. Peter heard no repulsers, no Iron Man suit. He felt no metal encasing his body, saving him from plummeting to his death. He didn’t hear Tony’s words, his please and cries. There was nothing.

I should be dead, Peter thinks bitterly, his top teeth worrying his bottom lip. 

“Oh, god,” The teen springs upright at the realization, his mouth open slightly as he stared towards the wall in front of him. He glanced around, eyes wide and sacred, like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh my god, oh my- I should be dead! I’m alive! I could have been dead by now!” Peter looks at the ceiling, the ceiling that isn’t popcorn and lets out a cry. He needed someone. Someone to scream at. Bruce. “Friday, w-what’s Doctor Banner doing? Is he b-busy?”

”Doctor Banner is currently in his lab reading a book and shows no sign of planning on going to bed.”

”Oh, thank god, ok-okay, I-“

”Peter it appears as though you are entering the beginning stages of a panic attack. Do I want me to call Mister Stark!”

Peter whimpers softly, hands shaking as he takes one through his hair. “No, Friday. I’m fine, I just- I just, need to get to Bruce. I need to tell him something.”

”Okay, Peter. His lab is on the floor below-“

”I know, I know.”

Peter stands on wobbly legs, looking like a baby deer taking its first steps as he flew out of the room. Down the halls, Peter scrambled as silently as he could, though he was going as fast as his stick legs could take him. Finally making it to the elevator, Peter blew out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t much further. Ark ready figuring out where the boy was going, Friday started the elevator to the floor directly below as Peter waited impatiently to get there. A hand on his thigh, tapping with every second. A little voice in his head saying, ‘Come on, come on, come on’ as he wished the elevator went faster. Tears are gathering on his eyes already.

Until, finally, the door opened. The boy leaped from the small room as the doors closed and found his way towards Bruce’s private lab. 

He hadn’t been in it often, just a few select times Bruce wanted the boy to come in and check data or math for him. Which, by the way, was the coolest thing Peter had some. And he had down a lot of cool things in his life, but none surpassed helping the Bruce Banner with his work.

Seeing that door was the best feeling, and feeling those numbers under his fingers as he punched in the access code was like heaven on Earth. Peter had something on his chest, and yelling at himself in his room wasn’t quenching his need to get it off. Besides, Bruce said he wanted to help, right? Well, this would sure help a lot.

The door swung in, Bruce’s body flinching and tending at how sudden and violent it all was. He recover quickly, seeing a distraught Peter walking in.

”Peter? Are you okay?”

The boy threw his hands up, slamming the door shut and turning to the man. “No! I am most defiantly not okay.”

”O-kay?” Bruce closed his book, setting it upon the least cluttered lab table. He cleared his throat, anxiety bubbling to the surface. “And, uh, what can I do for you? What’s wrong?”

Peter seemed to finally calm down, though he was seconds away from literally exploding- blood and guts everywhere kind of exploding. The ten glanced around the messy room, taking in every half-assed, unfinished experiment to the many data sheets smattered around. 

Peter turned towards the older man, who didn’t look like he knew what to do with his hands.

”I had a realization.”

”Okay, elaborate. Here, take a seat,” Bruce motioned to an available rolling stool and the body wheeled it over to where Bruce has sat back down by his desk. “What kind of- ah- realization?”

Peter took a deep breath in. Was he really about to do this? Would Bruce even understand? All that confidence Peter had once felt in the man was slowly drifting away as he realized that this guy, Bruce, was just as nervous and anxiety ridden as himself. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. 

Here goes nothing, the teen sighed.

”I’m supposed to be dead.”

”Wha-“

”I mean, obviously, I’m not. But, like, I should have been. A-And not just from what happened earlier today,” The boy glances up to see Bruce’s face, it’s all scrunched up in concern and confusion. Peter sighs again. “I’m saying that- that maybe this was all just luck. Twisted, screwed-up, but good luck. Ray could have killed me at any time. I fought. A lot, the first month. But he didn’t kill me. I was just lucky. M-Maybe I should be dead.”

Bruce let the words sink in as he went over every sentence. He understood, partially. And maybe that was enough. 

Peter stayed silent, his demeanor seemingly changing once again at the silence that followed. Trusting Bruce may have been a stretch. A bad idea, Peter concludes. This man doesn’t know how to take care of a teenagers emotions- let alone a teenager who had been kidnapped and tortured for four months. There was no connection, no middle ground to stand on. It was all to separated. 

Peter felt angry.

”I understand. I think.” Bruce finally answers after another minute of silence. He notices the change in Peter’s moons almost instantly when he looks up. The furrowed brow, the set scowl, the blazing look in his eye. He was angry. But Peter may have forgotten that he was in. The same room as the angriest man alive. 

“I don’t know how that’s possible. You- you-“

”Maybe I was never raped or- or anything like that. But I’ve been through a lot, trust me, I’m old. I’ve seen things,” Bruce looks up from his lap to see Peter is crying. The tears that had gathered from before had finally given up and fell. He looked tired. Tired and devastated. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped, to be trapped. And yeah, I was never physically chained to a bed, but people themselves can be just as strong as any rope or chain or metal.” 

Peter finally understands.

He understands that Bruce understands. Not in the same way, maybe, but enough for Peter too look into Bruce’s eyes and see the same hurt he feels.

His confidence in Bruce is growing by the second. 

“Who?” Peter asks, fingers fiddling with each other in his lap. Silence follows as the boy waits for the older man. It crosses his mind that a question like that may be to personal, seeing as though Bruce is supposed to be helping Peter, not the other way around. However, the teen’s curiosity won over morals.

Bruce smiles, faintly, at something Peter can’t see. “My dad.” 

“Oh. What did he do?”

”I was never raped like- like you were. But you were beat, right?”

Peter nods his head. How he was staying to composed through this whole conversation was a mystery to him. “Yeah. A lot.”

”Same.”

This has nothing to do with superheroes. Peter had been trafficked and sold for money, not because he was Spider-Man or Tony Stark’s son, but because he was just some naive kid. Bruce hadn’t been abused by his father because he was Hulk- he hadn’t hadn’t been changed when he was a kid- but just because he was there at the house.

Peter gulps silently and waits.

”I’m sorry.”

”It’s not your fault. You weren’t even alive when it was happening. But, I know what it feels like to feel like you shouldn’t have made it. Like you avoided your fate somehow. My mother was killed by him, and even now I still wonder why it wasn’t me.”

Peter feels more tears rush down his cheeks as he thinks of the thousands of other children who are still out there. He was the one that got away. What about all the others? It wasn’t fair for him to be saved when it was his own lack of intelligence that got him there in the first place. Why did he have to get saved? Why couldn’t it have been someone else? 

“There’s other kids out there, Bruce,” Peter starts, sniffling silently as he silently cries. “O-Ones that deserve to live m-more than I do. They deserve a life. I just feel guilty, I-I guess.”

Bruce smiles then, small and surprisingly, it isn’t isn't a sad smile. It’s a happy one. Something Peter didn’t expect.

”We called Fury when we couldn’t find you. We asked for his help. When he found out what had happened to you, he sent out so many agents- too many to count,” Bruce looks into space, avoiding eye contact with a still crying Peter. He hopes the boy will like the news he’s about to share. He hopes it’ll help some. Bruce knows what it’s like to feel guilty because others may have it worse. “When we found you, finally, he kept his agents out there, cracking down on more missing people reports. And when SHEILD has a mission, they won’t stop until it’s completed. Let’s just say there’s a lot more kids who are going home.”

Peter smiled bitterly. The pain is still there, but it’s subdued knowing the Nick Fury is out there helping. The guilt is still there, but not as prominent. 

“I don’t feel like I’m worth much anymore.” Peter admits softly, his voice cracking. 

“Why?” 

“I’ve been gone for so long,” Four months may not seem like too long, but for Peter, it may as well have been four years. He’d like to say nothing had changed, but that just wasn’t true. “Things are different now. Tony’s not the same. He’s nervous, scared I’ll disappear if he even blinks. But he still wants me to have freedom, that’s why he let me go to school.”

”That’s cause, Peter, you basically did disappear in the blink of an eye. You were there one second, and the next, you weren’t.”

Peter stared at the man. It didn’t feel like his kidnapping was quick. It could have just been the drugs in his system, slowing his mind, but him disappearing didn’t seem quick at all. 

“I just don’t want him to worry anymore. If I’m not good for anything but-... then there’s no reason for me to be alive. If I only make his life worse than there’s no point.”

Bruce stares at his hands. The same hands that had destroyed so many buildings, cars, family’s and killed so many people. Even if it wasn’t on purpose, those hands had caused so much pain and destruction. The man sighs, one hand coming to rub at the curly mop of hair on his head. Bruce didn’t tell many people about his suicide attempt, it wasn’t something eh liked to brag about to make it known. And yet, here he was, about to tell a kid what he had down so many times over to try and get rid of the monster inside him. 

“Y’know, Peter, when there’s a giant raging monster inside you, things can get pretty scary,” The boy looks up, startled and confused, but he lets the man continue anyways. “I’ve tried to put a bullet in my head so many times I’ve lost count. It never works. And since it never worked, I stopped. I accepted the fact that I couldn’t kill myself and I went on to make friends and now, I have a family.”

Peter is shocked to say the least. 

Now he knows why Tony’s so protective over Bruce and Natasha was always treating him so well. They don’t want him getting low again. 

“I didn’t know.”

”I know. That’s okay, though. Because if I had died, I wounding have been able to meet the family I have now. I wouldn’t have met you. I know you’ve gone through a lot, Peter, but in telling you, if you die now, there’s no chance for things to get better.”

Peter let’s put a whimper, the thought of what he had done earlier- jumping off the building- still vivid in his mind. “I just don't want to be useless anymore.”

”That’s the thing, Pete. You aren’t useless. We became wrecks when you went missing- all of us! I didn’t think any of us had enough willpower to even get out of bed in the morning,” Bruce explains, he’s grasping at straws. Peter has to know this. Bruce doesn’t want the boy to become like this- a sad man with no will to live. “You make to many people happy, to just leave. If you hadn’t been saved, Tony wouldn’t know how to live anymore. He’d be lost.”

When Peter starts sobbing, Bruce does something so uncharacteristic it startles the boy.

He hugs Peter. 

The man’s hugs are like a bear hug, warm and totally encasing the younger body. Bruce’s hands come to rest on his hack, rubbing slightly as the boy lets himself go, sobbing into the man’s chest. They stay like that for a long while, just them and the silence between the two.

”I need to tell you something.” Peter finally says after he’s calmed down.”

”What is it?” Bruce whispers, still gripping the boy.

”I-I recognized someone, when I was stuck with Ray. Someone who came in and... y’know. And I don’t know if I should tell Tony or not because- because they’re friends and I don’t want to ruin that.”

”Who?”

”Do-Do you know a Joesph McLough?”

All Peter heads is a chokes sob from Bruce before he’s pulled into another bone-crushing. He can feel the pure rage radiating from the man, though there’s no tinge of green on his skin, no growing out of his clothes or anything. It’s just Bruce, no Hulk. Peter can hear Bruce under his breath as he whispers something about killing McLough. Now, the boy’s usually against all violence but hearing those words, Peter isn’t so against it. 

Hed be okay with that.

Bruce just continues but to hold Peter.

Peter’s always cold now. No meat on his bowman to keep him warm anymore. But wrapped in his family’s arms- a family member to knows him, can relate to him, something switches.

For the first time since he’d been kidnapped, Peter feels warm.

And he realizes that he never wants to let that go.

An hour later, Peter is asleep on the couch in the corner of the lab, snuggled under a blanket and snoring softly. He looks dead, nearly.

Bruce stares at the door to the lab with no emotion. He can feel Hulk bubbling to the surface, ready to blow. Bruce hates himself for what he’s about to do, but promises himself it’ll be for the better.

Doctor Banner leaves the tower that night with the few last words:

”Maybe it’s time to pay this McLough guy a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys this took forever I’m so so so sorry!!! I don’t really like this chapter but I feel like Peter needs more bonding time with some of the others and I though Bruce and Peter would bond well because they can kinda relate to each other. So I hope you all enjoyed it! I love Bruce and Peter friendship so much it’s crazy! I love you all so much thanks for being patient and for all the support! 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please feel free to comment, leave kudos or save for later. Lots of love- lmc <3


	16. Killing For Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt makes people do stupid shit. Shame can make anyone realize that their hatred may not be for anyone but themselves. Peter feels guilty- he always does. 
> 
> He’s not the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup bitches. Guess who’s back? Back again. Go tell your friends. Anyways... welcome to chapter sixteen. There’s something I want to clear out of the way before you continue... SO PLEASE READ THIS!!! Bruce did NOT rape Joesph, okay? He didn’t. I know the description of his murder may kinda hint to that, but that’s not what happened. THANK YOU. And goodnight.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentions of Rape/Non-Con  
> -Mentions of Murder (pretty graphic)  
> -Panic Attacks
> 
> Also, I was able to fit everything I needed to into just one more chapter, so hopefully the story will end at Chapter 17 not 20! I hope you guys don't mind! I’ll also be adding an epilogue because I can’t stand when stories end on odd numbers lmao.

Peter can hear it all play out in the room next door.

Tony and Pepper's bedroom. The television is on, the volume barely over a whisper, and still, it sounds like screaming in his mind. But it isn’t the blasting volume or the fact that Tony has the fucking T.V. on at eight in the fucking morning. No, it’s what the anchor says (his voice sounding like a dying chipmunk so early in the morning) as he reads out the headlines from overnight.

He recognizes two things: his name, and a murder.

_”Next up we have Jonah Jameson reporting at the scene of a rather gruesome, uh, murder. Hello, Jonah, can you tell us a bit about the investigation?”_

_”Thanks, Gwen. I’m here at a resident office building in Queens where what appears to be the murder of Joesph McLough took place just hours ago. The associate of Stark Industries was reported as staying late at work to finish up some paperwork, when a security guard found his body. It appears to be ripped in half, the lower half of his body has not been located yet. His body has been, eh, completely battered to the point where police could barely identify him. It truly is a gruesome sight.”_

_”Thank you, Jonah. We will have follow ups on this case as the week progresses, but for now we move on to a case that has us all in tears. The son of billionaire philanthropist, Tony Stark was found last week after going missing for just over four months. While we weren’t told much about his condition or what happened after finding him, we do know that the young fifteen year old boy was suggested to, ah, sex trafficking...”_

The girl drones on for far to long, phrasing every last detail of what happened to Peter, what the news station was told by police despite Tony’s best efforts to keep them silent. The boy blocks out the rest, pushing the palms against his ears violently in a vain attempt to make it silent once more. He wants to throw up.

Peter’s body launches up faster than a fat kidding chasing an ice cream truck as he glanced around the room with an expression that could only be described as lost.

Anyone would be.

Peter’s rapist was dead. One of them at least. And to top it all fucking off, it was one of his worst experiences while in that motel, not that any of them were enjoyable. But that didn’t matter now, because Joesph McLough was dead. And Peter knew exactly who had done it.

Peter knew how much Bruce hated having blood on his hands. Years of causing mass amounts of destruction and death takes a toll on a guy- you didn't need to be a giant green monster to feel bad for murdering someone. And while the teen knew the scientist couldn't bare the thought of murdering someone in cold blood, he also knew that Bruce killed McLough for  _him._ With that knowledge Peter could confidently say he had the best family ever, as childish as that sounded.

The teen waited in bed for another hour, listening to the television move on from his own headline to another one.

His hair was sweaty, clumped and glued to his forehead. The room was hot, the fan un-moving and the thick blankets encasing the boy. While this room was warm, it was nothing compared to the room at the motel. The fan there was broken, presumably, and only turned in slow, useless movements. The sun would burn through the thin curtains, and though Peter couldn’t feel those gorgeous rays cascade across his skin like water over river stones, he relished in the unbearable heat. It gave him hope that the sun still existed, it was the same as he left it. Though he could never breathe in any fresh air or anything other than the stuffy, hot, moldy air from the motel room that reeked of smoke, Peter was thankful for the small gusts of air that would come whenever the door was opened late at night. While he didn’t like what followed those cool gusts of air, they still felt like heaven on earth.

He felt guilty. Stupid, even. That he couldn’t relish in the feeling of silk sheets and linen-laced pillows with fluffy feathers filling them all. He had gotten to used to them, before he was taken. So when he laid in his queen sized bed, surrounded by expensive plush stuffed animals (he’s only fifteen, give him a break) and didn’t cry at the soft, beautiful feeling, he felt nothing but guilt. 

He could be back in that room, rotting away on a bed soaked in his own blood and semen. 

He could be getting raped every night by strangers.

He could be in constant pain.

He could be starving.

He could do nothing but stare at the same wall, with the peeling paint and stains, with empty eyes that held absolutely nothing because it was all stolen from him in an instance.

But he was home, in his own bed. He was surrounded by family members willing to kill for him, getting full course meals every day, he was able to confidently say he was safe and no one would walk through those doors and rape him. Peter was okay.

But he hated that no matter how ‘okay’ he was, he never truly felt that way.

Maybe he never would?

Oh.

”Maybe I am broken.” Peter stated to no one but himself. It sounded cliche, but it was the truth. Tears gathered in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry anymore. There were no more tears left to cry. While his eyes felt so heavy, so full, on the inside, he felt empty. So, so empty. No matter how much he confined in his family, to Bruce as his faux therapist, the feeling was still there. The feeling of nothingness. 

Peter shook. Uncontrollably, you could say. It looked as if he would implode under the stress of how much his body vibrated. He sobbed; loud and hard and just loose.

Peter screamed. So loud his head hurt because of it. He screeched so loud the walls around him echoed like he was yelling into a cave. The room vibrated, practically. The pain in his voice was something out of a horror movie.

It was all, and then, it was nothing.

There wasn’t a worried Tony rushing in with the whole fucking Avengers team running in after him because Peter was screaming bloody murder. Friday wasn’t asking if he was okay, never mentioned alerting Tony or anything. It had all been in his head, Peter realized. His mouth formed the shape of a wonky ‘o’ as he stared towards the ceiling.

Ten minutes past in relative silence.

”I’m going crazy.” 

“Not yet kid. Give it, eh, ten? Fifteen years? Then I’d say you’ve really gone off the deep end.”

Peter launched up at the sound of his father’s voice, seeing the older man standing in the door frame, his arms crossed. The boy smiled and got a small smirk from the man. 

“Good morning.”

”Well good morning to you too, Mister Bed-Head.”

Peter rolled his eyes fondly. Tony liked to poke fun at the kid for his absolutely unruly head of hair, despite suffering a mean case of bed head himself. The older man had some weird habit of touching people’s hair, especially Peter’s. Whether it be ruffling it as the kid walked by, playing with it for hours on end, braiding it or just cascading his hands through it, Tony loved it. Peter thought of it as Tony’s calming mechanism- like a therapy animal, but a human of course. 

Not that the kid was complaining; it felt amazing as hell.

”What’s for breakfast? I’m starved.”

”Whatever you want, kid.”

Peter smiled slyly. It was times like these he didn’t have to think about what had happened to him, what he had become. It was just him and his father- no awful memories or fear. 

The kid thought about what he wanted, a grin escaping him.

”Cheeseburgers.”

Peter could practically see Tony’s mouth watering. He chuckled, bring a hand up to cup around his mouth to suppress the giggles. 

“I’m so fucking down for that, but I don’t think Pep will let us.”

”Who says she has to know?”

”I like your thinking kid. Let’s blow this joint!”

Only Tony Stark would drive his kid to pick up burgers at nine in the goddamn morning and most places weren’t even open yet, and still, Tony somehow was able to get them cheeseburgers without much hassle.

They were damn good cheeseburgers too. 

The two drove around the city, admiring the roads of traffic as people made their way to work and school at the ass crack of dawn. And as immersed in their burgers as they were, Tony still managed to take a look at the sky. 

“Hm. Looks like it might rain.”

Peter huffed out a laugh, moving some of the paper out of the way so he could take another bite of his food. Too focused to even look at the angry clouds that rolled overhead.

”It always looks that way in New York.”

”I’m serious, kid. Let’s get home. I don’t feel like driving through rain while surrounded by idiotic drivers who don’t know what a turn signal is.”

Peter giggled quietly, polishing off the rest of his burger before moving on to the next one. A growing teenage boy plus a super fast metabolism equaled the need for a minimum of three servings each meal. Peter wasn’t complaining- cheeseburgers were good and he’d eat a thousand in one meal and still be begging for more.

It wasn’t curiosity that had Peter’s eyes following where Tony’s were.

It was the noise.

Thunder had never been Peter’s friend. It was even more cruel after he got his powers and all of his senses were dialed to eleven. Even as a child, Peter was both terrified and infatuated with stormy weather. It was cool to look at, of course. And thinking about how it all worked was interesting and questions always popped in his head about how things worked and why. However, while the image of a raging storm is fascinating, the sounds it makes are not. Thunder was loud, everyone knew that. But for Peter, it was like someone was banging a hammer against his ears constantly while simultaneously screaming into his ear drums. And lightning, as subtle as it could be at times, was like having flashlights burned into his retinas every time it struck. So in short, Peter both loved and hated storms.

Emphasis on the hate because- damn, those things were scary.

Peter couldn’t hold back the visible flinch when thunder cracked through the sky, loud and prominent throughout the city. Tony noticed, he definitely did, but he still kept his mouth shut. Besides, Peter opened his mouth before Tony could even think of something to say.

”I’m fine.”

”I believe you.” It definitely didn’t sound that way, but Peter ignored it anyways. “There’s noise cancelling headphones at home.”

Peter smiled, glancing at his father, who was immersed with the road.

”Thanks.”

”Which one are you on?”

Peter glances at his half eaten hamburger and smirked triumphantly. 

“Three.”

”Only three? Damn, and here I thought you, of all people, could actually beat me at eating competitions. Should we have one of those at the tower!? It’ll be like team bonding, but better because there’s food involved!”

”Let’s do it. I bet Thor could eat more than all of us combined.”

Tony barked out a laugh that sounded more like a burp and smirked at the sky above. Stormy weather always reminded him of Thor- mostly because of the lightning, of course.

”Totally.” There’s a long pause after that, and slowly, Peter begins to recognize businesses that are stationed close to the tower. He’s almost home. He only has a few minutes to tell Tony. Peter saw the grief in his father’s eyes earlier, after he found out about McLough’s violent death, but Peter hadn’t commented on it. Tony wasn’t crying, but he was upset. Joesph was his friend, after all. “Are you... okay? I don’t know if you heard but, they were talking about you on the news this morning.”

”I know. I heard.”

”Did you hear about, uh, Joesph too? Joesph McLough, you know him. You guys met at the first charity gala you ever went to with me as my legal son. You heard he died?”

”Yes.”

”Yeah, it’s sad. He was a good man. A good friend of mine.”

Peter couldn’t bare to listen to Tony going on and on about how that rapist was such a good person. He wasn’t, plain in simple. He was an evil asshole with no morals. Peter’s brain was telling him to straighten his back, turn to his father and rant about all that worthless man had done to him in those five measly hours. Five hours of fucking torture and still Tony had the guts to call him a ‘good man’. Screw Joesph and his severed body and his sick thoughts and his disgusting words that still ring in Peter’s ears.

Thanks to him, it will never be silent in Peter’s head. It’s always his voice- over and over, everyday. When he thinks he’s safe from it, there it is, vibrant and just as cruel as ever.

”No he-hes not a... he’s not a good man, dad.”

Hearing the word ‘dad’ caught Tony off guard. Seeing the tower approaching, the man veered right at the next light, prolonging their return home so the conversation could continue. It was starting to go from lighthearted humor to sickeningly dark in a matter of seconds.

“What do you mean? You met him at a charity dance for the fucking Humane Society. I asked if you liked him and you said he was ni-“

”Well, he’s not. He’s not nice. At all. I-I... I don’t know ho-how else to say it, dad.” Tears welled in his eyes, the boy’s mouth forming a grimace as he let his burger fall lifelessly into the takeout bag. He was trying to hold back his sobs, he really was! But there was a force just pushing those tears out, and finally, the teen let them fall. He was done letting things bottle up inside him. Peter was able to spill his guts to Bruce, so why couldn’t he do it to his own father as well? Why was this so damn hard?!

Tony kept his composure, though he was deathly afraid of what was about to come from Peter mouth.

Without a word, Tony grasped Peter’s hand in his own and squeezed, just as rain began to fall from the sky. It was silent again. Just Peter’s shuttered cries and the rain’s soft pitter-patter against the windshield. 

“Whatever you’re about to say, just know I’m honored you chose to say it in front of me.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to start off his thoughts and he can’t decide how to word them to Tony. He doesn’t want to scare his father, he really doesn’t, but something inside him tells him that no matter what he says, Tony will be terrified. 

There's not much left to do but say it.

”It’s my fault that he’s dead,” Peter finally says, ignoring the shuttering gasp that comes from Tony’s mouth. Despite the gasp, he doubts Tony believes that. “I told someone what he did, and they killed him for me. I’m not angry at them, I want to thank them. I don’t want to feel happy that he’s dead but I can’t help it.”

Tony watches as Peter’s face morphs into such a grief stricken expression, almost as if the emotions come in waves. 

“What did he do to you?” Tony’s almost afraid to ask. Scratch that, he  _is_ afraid to ask. Terrified, really. He has a felling that he knows what’s coming, but he still isn’t prepared for the words that exit his poor son’s mouth. 

“He was at the motel. H-He paid a lot for me bu-but I don’t think he recognized me. I-If he did he never said anything, he never mentioned you or said my name. He was... he was heavier than me, y’know? And when he was laying on top of me, it was just hard to breathe and to think. I saw his face and I recognized him but I never said a word to him. I knew better than to speak out of- out of turn. He was there for a long time I’m not sure how long but when I heard Ray and him talking after about-about money he was supposed to pay five-hundred dollars. I knew it was a hundred per hour so I figured that he was there for just about five hours- it made sense. That was the longest anyone’s ever been in there with me. I-It hurt a lot, and I don’t want to say this- but whenever I looked up at him all I saw was your face. He was your friend an-and I missed you so much. I-I’m sorry-“

Peter doesn’t finish his thought before his father’s warm arms are enveloping him in the most affectionate hug Peter’s ever felt. 

“Don’t say anything.”

”I-I won’t.”

”I love you. More than that asshole so don’t think for even a goddamn second I still like him after what he’s done. Okay? I don’t care who killed that bitch but when I see them I’ll give them the biggest hug ever known to man.”

”Please.”

The two tune out the honking of other people behind them and focuses on gripping the kid so tight, he’ll turn blue. Tony feels himself begin to cry, but he allows himself the show of emotion because it’s only Peter, it’s only his son. And since the boy let Tony into his own mind, it was only fair the older man do the same.

The older man’s brain was a racetrack for thoughts, chasing one another as he tried to come up with something- anything- to say to his son.

”I’m sorry, Petey.”

This wasn’t what he wanted. Peter didn’t want his father to feel guilty, that wasn’t the point! The teen wanted to feel guilty himself- this whole thing was his fault, no one else’s. He wanted to mope in his own guilt and self-pity, not drag people into his pity party!

Peter just grips his father harder, an unspoken acceptance.

They don’t stop gripping each other until their backs physically can’t stand the strain of leaning over the center console. Anyone trapped behind them in the long lines of traffic are gone or still honking from behind, and still they don’t move for another moment. Tony keeps his child’s hand in his, showing no signs of letting go, even as he begins the drive back home.

It’s still raining, and the little drops of water that cascade down from the grey sky are exactly like the tears that fall from Peter’s own eyes. The sky isn’t the only one crying, this miserable morning. Peter closed his eyes, his head resting against the cool window as he listens to the gentle rain fall. It hurt before, the constant little rain drops were so loud in his poor ears. But now, as the rain began to settle into a sprinkle, it was calming, zoning out every other sound until it was just the gentle water gushing down. Tony had turned the radio up, if only a smidgen, so it just gently echoed in their ears. It was an old 80’s song, soft rock. A song Peter didn’t know the name of, but Tony seemed pretty into it. The boy could hear the older man’s voice just barely singing along to the lyrics.

Peter sung along, quietly, a whisper really.

He didn’t miss the gentle tug on his hand, in fact, he squeezed back.

The ride back was slow and Peter could feel himself slowly slipping into sleep once more. It was nothing but him, Tony, and the comforting sound of rain hitting the window. Peter wants to run out in the spray and feel the water hit his skin, like he had when he used to run from school on rainy days at dismissal all the way to Happy’s car. He missed that. Peter realizes how stupid he is for not staying in school that one day, for running away and nearly killing himself all because he couldn’t get ahold of his feelings. He thinks about his talk with Bruce, about what Bruce did for him and realizes that the man- Joesph- would still be hurting people if he hadn’t opened up.  If he had died that night from jumping off the building, McLough would still be out there, hurting innocent children.

Peter’s happy he’s alive, even if living was one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

When the two arrived home, the storm had gotten worse. However, because of the raging storm outside, being inside and curled up on the couch with a warm cup of coffee was the coziest Peter has ever been. He focused on the way his body molded into the couch cushions, how he just sunk into the padding whenever he moved. It was different from the beds at the motel in regards to the way his body became one with the cushions. The mattress he spent four months of his life on was a rock, basically, but over the months he was there, it had gotten softer, squishier and far more moist. This couch had throw blankets more expensive than his old apartment, made of faux-fur that was so soft, it rivaled that of a kitten’s coat. Peter thinks about the broken fan at the motel, and how he was glad he never had a blanket because it was so goddamn hot in that room, he’d overheat.

The tower was cold. It just was. Whether it be the air conditioning always running or the tile floors and granite counter tops that were always cold, Peter wasn’t sure. But wrapping those fluffy blankets around himself while sitting in the frigid cold was the best feeling in the world.

Tony had Bruce dig out the noise cancelling headphones, just like he promised in the car. They were bulky and large on Peter’s head, even on the smallest setting, but they worked wonders for the boy. Occasionally, Peter would see his father flinch from beside him on the couch, meaning a rather loud stroke of thunder had made an appearance. All Peter did was smile and thank Tony for his selflessness.

What Peter didn’t know was that his ears, unfortunately, got used to the sound of muffled thunder.

Soon the peaceful ambiance was gone in the matter of a few hours, and Peter’s ears were once again full of loud, rumbling thunder. The boy slowly eased the headphones off, tentative hands afraid that the second he’d take them off, another roll of thunder would-

Boom!

_Boom!_

_”Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve done, you worthless bitch!?” Ray is angry. That’s all Peter thinks about as the man slams the door closed with a sickening crack that’s sounds more like a roll of thunder than anything else. The boy flinches, but otherwise doesn’t make another movement. The older man storms in with a set scowl on his face, his ugly features tucked together and pointed down. Peter would laugh at his face if he weren’t in such a predicament._

_Anyways, Peter does know what he’s done. He doesn’t regret it either, though he’s sure that will change once Ray’s pent up anger finally comes out._

_Peter whines and shakes his head, lying. He knows better than to speak._

_“I’ll tell you what you did, you cunt! Who the fuck gave you permission to bite the fucking client?! I lost money because of you’re useless ass.” Ray paces back and forth in front of the chained up boy, risking glances towards the small child as he basks in his rage. He’d fuck Peter up- mark his words. Ray finally comes to a stop in front of the bed, eyes raging a wild red in Peter’s delusional mind. His last client used drugs and let’s just say, the after effects were less than stellar. “I’ll rip your fucking penis off, you dick-wad.”_

_Fear flashes across Peter’s face, his body cowering against the wiry, metal headboard. He brings his knees to his chest, hands still chained painful to the headboard. He wants to look small, the more pitiful he looks, the better._

_Peter takes his chances, muttering a small, noncommittal; “Please.”_

_He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s deep, grumbling and scratchy like he had smoked for his whole life. Sure, occasionally, Ray would share his cigarettes with the boy, but Peter hadn’t smoked enough for his voice to start changing. It’s from the screaming, mostly. His lack of speaking and his screeching._

_“Shut the fuck up. God- God! You really are a piece of work, Parker.” Ray goes back to pacing, his anxiety getting the better of him. He’s thinking... hard. His mind whirring a thousand miles an hour. A punishment was in store for sure, but that wasn’t what he was thinking so hard about. Beating someone was easy. “That guy- that damned guy refused to pay me. Okay? And that cocksucker can do whatever the fuck he wants to ruin me just ‘cause you couldn’t keep from trying to bite his mother fucking dick off! What if he goes to the police! We’ll be ruined! Lying is easy, Parker. He doesn’t have to mention the fact that he fucked you for an hour, all he has to say is that he found you and decided to go to the police. I swear to god you’ll be dead by the end of the night.”_

_Peter doesn’t react much, he remembers what happens when makes noises; anything from gasps to whimpers can get him beat within an inch of his life._

_Ray scoffs at the little ball of bones and skin that’s huddled in the bed._

_”What do you have to say for yourself?”_

_Peter doesn’t know if this is a trick. A game. A sick game that’ll punish him if he makes the wrong decision, picks the wrong words or movements. The words ‘I’m sorry’ teeter in his tongue, but every time he opens his mouth, he only chokes on his own spit. Ray growls like a feral animal before Peter can spit his words out._

_”I-Im sorry... sir.”_

_Ray only seems angry at that and Peter knows he’s screwed. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, kid. If it did, I’d still be able to see my family and you’d be happy about getting fucked.”_

_Peter’s heard this speech before. He heard it quite a lot when he was first captured. When he constantly fought back and broke rules left and right. Back what he was stupid and thought he still had a chance of escaping. Peter learned quickly that he was never getting out and his best form of action was to do, well, the opposite of action. He just had to take it. He’d be thrown away soon, he was sure. Ray would get tired of him and throw him away like a rag doll. Peter was just waiting for that day to come, counting the hours until he was finally free from this hell._

_The teen flinches slightly when Ray pulls  a gun off of the small dresser by where a television should be. It’s small, a pistol perhaps, but it still scares Peter to no end._

_“I should blow your brains out. I really should.” Peter’s begging him in his mind to please just pull the trigger. He just wants to go home, maybe see Ben and May again, maybe even his parents. Peter frowns when Ray slowly puts the gun back on the dresser. “I won’t, though. I’ll be a millionaire by the time I’m done with you, kid. And by then, you won’t even be a kid anymore. Why would I kill the breadwinner in our little game here, Parker? Is that even your name anymore? What should I be calling you, pretty boy? Stark?”_

_Peter nods his head carefully, unable to tell of Ray even wanted an answer. Luckily, the man just looks over the boy’s cowering form and nods. For a moment, Ray looks sad. Peter knows better; it’s all a rouse._

_“Stark wouldn’t be so proud of ya’ now, huh? Bet you make daddy disappointed by not getting out of this place. It’s okay. My dad wasn’t proud of me either.” Peter ignored the sob story and replaces his focus on the gun that lays upon the dresser. Ray follows the trail of the younger’s eyes to the weapon and smirks. His sympathy passed and is replaced by cruel words and glances. “Don’t even think about it, short stack. Gun or not, you couldn’t pull the trigger. Too weak; mentally and physically and you know it. Pathetic, really.”_

_Peter nods in agreement, knowing Ray likes it when he’s right. The man nods coyly and stalks towards the bed._

_“You deserve a beating, don’t you?” Peter nods, not daring to look the man in the eyes. “Of course you do. Can’t follow simple directions.”_

_Peter barely feels the first punch that hurdles towards his face. Ray’s eyes go dark, as if he weren’t even there anymore as he continues his torturous beating. When he’s finished and all that lay on the bed is Peter-bloodied and sobbing, the man leans down towards the younger’s ear and whispers cruelly._

_”You won’t be getting out of here anytime soon, kid. So, might as well get comfy.”_

_Ray leaves just as he entered; angry, bursting with pent up emotions and rage. He opens the door swiftly, glancing one last time at Peter before slamming the door with a loud..._

_Boom!_

Thunder rumbles loudly throughout the building, but that wasn’t what Peter was focused on. He really wasn't focused on anything, but the man in front of him- whomever he was- was taking up most of his vision. Peter can see his lips moving yet he doesn’t understand or even hear the words. What he can hear is a conversation between two woman from two miles away, a dog barking, a child crying, a man bargaining for a lower price at a store, a girl complaining about something on her phone, a sink somewhere in the tower that someone forgot to turn off and of course, that cursed thunder.

His eyes are blank, a type of numbness he’d felt before washed over him with every breath he took. Peter could smell the must, the mold and the overwhelming scent of sex in the room, despite knowing he wasn’t in the motel anymore. Hands; all over him. Under his shirt, down his pants, lips on his own, a tongue dragging down his front and-...

And....

The smell of Tony’s cologne. Musky, just how the older man liked it. He always smelled like that, like a real man. Tony didn’t smell like sex, like Peter did. No, he wasn’t disgusting like that, Tony was a proud man. 

Despite his mind screaming with all it’s might for him not too, Peter inhales the sweet, manly smell of Tony’s cologne, relishing in the comfort it provided. Butterflies sprouted in his tummy, flying around: trapped. He felt tingles, all throughout his arms and shoulders, up the nape of his neck and down the backs of his thighs. His vision didn’t recover from the blurry stare it was in, but from scent alone, Peter could tell he was home.

The voices came next, low and rumbling in his ear. They weren’t intimidating like Ray’s, simply warm and calming, like a gentle breeze on the beach. Then, Peter remembers that he’s never been to the beach, apart from his run in with The Vulture.

That, the fact that he’s never been to a fucking beach, makes him feel even emptier than before.

He wanted to feel sand slip between his toes, cool water wash over his body and foam over his legs in small waves. He wanted to smell salt and fish and sand. He’ll ask Tony about it, maybe, when’s he’s feeling better and can actually leave the house without having a panic attack or getting scared. Maybe, then, he’ll go to the beach. 

“Peter? Peter?! I need you to breathe- uh, breathe, okay? Common, just like me.” Tony doesn’t sound okay, he sounds far from it, actually. He looks like he’s crying. “Common, kid. You always said you wanted to be like me, right? First step to that is to breathe like me. Alright, you got that? Focus on me, nothing else.”

”I-I can’t... I can’t bre-breathe, Mister St-Stark,” He’s back to using Tony’s old name, the one he used when Peter first met the man. That’s how Tony knows this has all gone to hell. “There’s some-something in my- in my mouth!” 

Tony doesn’t want to think about what Peter could be imagining was keeping him from breathing; whatever he thought was stuck in his mouth, but he stayed calm and carried on. 

“You’re okay.”

”I-I don’t feel so go-good, Mister Stark.”

The billionaire frowns. “You’re going to be alright.”

”I don’t wa-want to go back th-there, don’t make me go b-b-back.” Peter wailed, hands grasping at Tony’s chest, reaching towards the glowing blue light in the center of his chest.

”I won’t make you go back, you’re not going anywhere. Look at me, look at my eyes. Can you see me?”

”Yeah- yeah.”

Tony smiles, seeing the fuzzy look of Peter’s eyes settle as he calmed down. “Good, that’s good. You’re doing great, buddy.”

Peter barely registers his father’s words as another wave of thunder sounds throughout the home. He whined, unable to control the fear that rushed through him, turning his veins to ice. The boy let out another cry, feeling his mind drifting further away from reality. The smell of musk is slowly turning into mold. 

Just as soon as he began his decent into a living nightmare, he was pulled out by a voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

”I’ll take it from here, Stark.” Thor. His voice is distinct, deep and hinted with an accent Peter always loved to listen to. The god, as goofy as he could he, sounded serious. Peter felt his heart beating faster, anxiety flowing over him as his hands shook unceremoniously. Peter can feel the hand hold his wrist to Tony’s chest pull away. The boy leaned forward to grasp at the man’s hands as he cried, but the man continued to move away, hesitating. The hand is soon replaced with a large one, hard with callouses and colder, less sweaty than Tony’s had been. “Peter,” The god warns as the boy made grabby hands towards his father, like a toddler would do when wanting to be picked up. At the tone, Peter’s hands fell yet he didn’t stop his pained wails. He wanted his dad. “Peter, look at me.”

Peter does so and stares straight into Thor’s bright blue eyes. The older man smiled, but said noting for another moment. 

“Stark,” Thor says after a moment of calm silence as Peter gets his breathing back under control. “Leave us.”

Tony makes a sound that sounds vaguely of the word ‘no’ in Peter’s clouded hearing. Thor mutters something to the other man, and before Peter knew it, he could no longer feel the presence of his adoptive father in the room. Peter sniffled, feeling nothing but loneliness claw it’s way to his heart.

”My mother told me and my brother, once, that life is still worth living even if you’ve seen everything,” The muscular god starts, his hands still clinging to Peter’s thin wrists. “I believe that you’ve seen much of the world, Starkson. Earth is much different to Asgard. I’ve come to realize that when I had learned about what happened to you, as I’ve never heard of anything like that happening on Asgard. You’ve seen a lot, Peter. But there may be one thing you still haven’t had the honor of witnessing.”

Peter, now calm from his panic endured high, cocks his head slightly, the question ‘what’ barely making it out of his mouth. Thor nods and stands, pulling the boy up on his shaky legs. 

“Come.”

The boy follows the god, anxiety bubbling to surface as he sees where the man is leading him to. The balcony is intimidating now that the sky is covered in dark grey and even black clouds. The boy tugs on Thor’s large hands, but the man assured him everything was okay with a silent squeeze of the hand. The wind wisps around the two as they make it outside, rain sprinkling over their body’s softly. Peter can practically feel the thunder coming, his Spidey-Sense going haywire as the boy slams his hands over his ears in preparation. However, his hands are pulled away and replaced by the noise-canceling headphones he had on earlier. He hadn’t even noticed Thor had retrieved them when they began their track to the balcony. They don’t completely block out the next roll of thunder, but it helps ease the pain. 

It’s silent for a long time, just the two males gazing out towards the city line, watching as lightning strikes make contact with the ground with little sound. 

Suddenly, the lighting strikes become closer together, multiple striking in a single second, though none of them making contact with the city below. It’s a light show in Peter’s eyes. A glorious painting of white light against the gloomy background, the complete silence around him. It’s something he’s never experienced before. The light reflects off of glass buildings, shining like strobe lights across the sky as Peter stares on with awe. He doesn’t blink, even as his eyes start to get dry and hurt from the lack of moisture, he doesn’t want to close his eyes, even for a split second.  Peter has no words to form the beauty he sees as the lightning danced across the clouds with grace and power only lightning could have. 

In his excitement, Peter glances over at Thor with sparkling eyes and a great big smile. However, when he glanced over at the man, what he saw was something Peter would never forget. The god held Mjolnir high in the air, his eyes a blazing light, neon blue as the power he held in the palm of his hand rushed through him. 

Thor continued to provide the lightning for the storm that raged on, Peter hearing nothing but the very faint sound of rumbling after each strike. And while the light from each line of energy still blinded him like fluorescent lasers damning his eyes, he found it beautiful in every way possible.

Soon enough, Thor stills the storm and moves towards the boy, a sad smile gracing his lips. 

“My brother loved all things in nature. He loved to learn about them, as do you. Even though I was never able to show him what I showed you, it feels the same, nearly. So, thank you, Peter.”

Peter just nods, not able to find his voice jsit yet.

Peter and Thor don’t leave the balcony until dinner was done.

The teen looks down at his pasta. It’s plain, nothing but butter and salt dressing the noodles. It’s a stark contrast from the flavorful and colorful, home-made red sauce the others are eating. This is what he asked for thought, bland pasta. Just to be different. It looks good, nonetheless. However, it’s nothing compared to the lightning storm he witnessed earlier. The same storm he had been scared of; he watch for hours on end without a single word shared between him or his god friend. Unlike how he connected with Bruce by sharing his problems and feelings, Peter had found a different, much quieter way of connecting with Thor. Either way, the boy had never felt more liberated. 

Butter, salt, noodles and all, Peter enjoyed his meal in a beautiful silence. 

Tony didn’t question what he and Thor did for multiple hours on end, and Peter didn’t think he needed to. The smile on Peter’s face said it all.

Everything was good. 

Everything was calm.

And then...

Bruce’s guilt got the best of him and suddenly-

“I killed somebody.” The words came out rushed, Bruce’s high pitched voice ringing out in the otherwise silent room. The clatter of silverware stopped, all eyes trained on the scientist with shocked and confusion. Bruce shifted under their gaze, hands shaking with slight tremors. 

Peter saw Tony freeze in his place, however, the others almost seemed as this was a regular occurrence. Steve, however, did choke on his forkful of food, yet he recovered quickly.

”What?” 

Natasha smiled wickedly. “I’ve killed hundreds.” 

Clint scoffs and stuffs a forkful of pasta in his mouth, talking around the food. “Stop boasting about that, Nat. It’s fucking freaky. And Bruce, you’ve killed, like, a lot of people in disasters. Like, a lot! So many, man. Damn, it’s crazy how many you’ve-“

”What Clint meant to say was...” Natasha smacked the male over the head, sending him a threatening glare as she adverted her gaze and looked at Bruce with a much softer look. “During some unfortunate events, you may have caused some... casualties. So, what makes this one any different?”

Bruce squeezes his knee, a tinge of green forming around his finger tips. Peter can see Steve’s hesitant scoot of his chair, read to take action incase Hulk paid a visit. The scientist’s eyes go from a glowing green to a subdued brown in an instance as Bruce’s attempts to calm down prove to work. Steve scoots back in, though anxiety still filled his eyes. 

“This one’s not a, uh, casualty. I guess.” 

Natasha’s eyes hold suspicion and Peter just wants to curl up into a ball and die. He knows what’s about to go down, and frankly, he doesn’t want to do it during a family dinner. “What do you mean?” The woman questions.

Bruce takes a moment, risking a glance towards Peter. The two lock eyes and Banner sends the boy a nervous, small smile. Peter accepts it, and nods back, earning the attention of nearly everyone in the room. Steve stays silent, as well as Bucky, Thor and Tony. Peter wonders where Wanda, Vision and Sam has gone off to, but doesn’t linger on the thought for long. 

“I-I murdered someone.”

Before anyone else can say a single goddamned word, Peter’s up, hands slamming on the large table in an eager attempt to play the whole thing down. 

“He did it for me so it doesn’t even matter and you can’t be mad at him, it was my fault anyways! Doctor Banner did what he thought was best for me and he was right because JoesohMcloughrapedmeandIwantedhimdead.“

The room falls into silence once more. Unlike the peaceful silence it once was, this amount of quietness was one Peter didn’t think he could handle. Peter may not have broken into a business building and ripped some guy in half while simultaneously avoiding all security cameras in sight, but he still felt like the blood was on his hands. He wanted McLough dead, after all. 

Peter continues, the weight of the silence baring to heavy on his shoulders. 

“And, yeah! Maybe it wasn’t the most moral thing to do, but I feel a hell of a lot better knowing he’s... he’s gone. And I’ve learned a lot from this whole thing- this awful shit that’s happened to me. One of those things is that I’m allowed to be happy! And if a dead Joesph McLough makes me happy, then I deserve that. I think.”

The confidence Peter once held had vanished the second he felt his family’s eyes staring at him like he’s grown a second head. It crosses his mind, as he stares at their vacant expressions, that maybe he really isn't allowed to be happy.

Peter hates himself in that moment. 

How could he wish death upon someone? Even if that person was his rapist, it was against his morals to what someone dead. God, what had he become?

Bruce mutters a sad, "I'm sorry," before leaving the room, those glowing green eyes making an appearance as he tried his best to stay calm. That was virtually impossible for anyone in the room though. Natasha thanks her rapidly greening friend for doing what the others were to weak to do. Protecting Peter was above all else, including morals or guilt or any of that. As long as Peter was happy, so were they.

A chair is being pushed, the sound of wood is loud against the polished floors. The boy flinches. He wishes he was back in his father's arms, sleeping peacefully. Or back on the balcony with Thor staring up at the sky in awe as he witnesses the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The odd thing was, Thor hadn’t made any sounds or movements in response to anything that just happened. Not about Bruce’s confession or Peter’s outburst. The boy thinks back, about Thor and him standing out on the balcony, and realizes that the god doesn’t have to say anything for the kid to know Thor has his back, is listening and cares. Thor has done enough, and if he wanted to stay silent while Peter broke down, that was okay.

Peter can hear footsteps, approaching him, yet he doesn’t lift his head to see who it is. 

Out of the blue, two arms come to wrap around his hunched-middle, pulling him into a warm body. Peter doesn’t realize he’s crying until he opens his eyes and sees his tears falling into his half-empty plate of noodles. He doesn’t try to hold them in anymore. He allows himself to be held, even if guilt crawls its way through and rips him to shreds from the inside out. 

Peter wails.

”I’m sorry.”

Peter decides he’s okay with the silence, the emptiness of the feeling like little stabs of a knife into his back.

”I’m sorry too, Peter.” Tony’s sobbing into the boy’s shoulder, his grief-stricken expression pressed into his son to hide from the others. The rest of the team doesn’t speak and allows the two their own time, too scared to even move an inch. Tony thanks them, silently in his head.  Peter doesn’t know, but he isn’t the guiltiest person in the room. Tony can’t get over the fact that his boy is hurt because of him, and for that, he’d never forgive himself.

I’m sorry, Tony repeats in his head, and then aloud once more.

”I’m sorry.”

No one blames Bruce for McLough’s murder. No own blames Peter. No own blames Tony.

Except himself, of course.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs that remind me of Peter Parker:
> 
> \- dying in la // panic!at the disco  
> \- pigeon // cavetown  
> \- i’m sorry // richard walters  
> \- broken // anson seabra  
> \- yellow lights // harry hudson  
> \- if i’m to die // keaton henson  
> \- only everyone can judge me // crywank  
> \- tomorrow is nearly yesterday and everyday is stupid // crywank  
> \- i can’t sleep // abbey glover  
> \- visions of gideon // sufjan stevens  
> \- jesus in la // alec benjamin  
> \- beautiful boy (darling boy) // john  
> -migraine // twenty one pilots  
> -smithereens // twenty one pilots
> 
> Listen to I’m sorry by Richard Walters after watching Endgame and just try to tell me how this isn’t a song about Peter missing Tony and the regrets he had. JUST TRY TO TELL ME.
> 
> If you enjoyed, please feel free to comment, leave kudos or save for later! Lots of love- lmc


	17. I'll See You Again In My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter doesn’t know whether or not he wants ultimate freedom, or to be coddled. He’s touched starved, humiliated and babied, but the second he realizes he’s alone, he begins to cry. So, the same question still rings in his head; what’s better, to cry by yourself or with the company of others?
> 
> Peter cries either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last real chapter holy fuck! The support has been so crazy I cry reading your guy’s comments. I love you all so much and you’ve all helped me throughout this story, especially when I was struggling with anxiety and depression. You are all saints!!! I love you all so much!!!
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Mentioned Rape/Non-Con  
> -References to Depression  
> -Mentioned Suicide

Tony hasn’t left Peter’s room in days, not that the boy was complaining. They lay in bed, curled together in a little ball by the headboard, Peter’s head tucked under his father’s chin, stuffed into the older man’s neck. Tony’s hands laid on the boy’s back, their legs intertwined under the covers. He grips the boy as if  Peter would disappear if he even let go just a little. Who knows, maybe the boy could just fade away if he lets go. 

The window  _is_ looking rather enticing. 

Peter listens to the steady heartbeat under his ear, counting along with every steady bump. They don’t say a word.

Even if the two start to feel the aches and pains of their rather tangled position, neither of them dare to speak out. It’s warm under the sheets, tied together like a child’s shoelaces. There's a melancholy feel in the air, an unspoken depression that lingers in the worst way imaginable. Neither one of them can sleep, their eyes both holding identical shadows under their eyes, like heavy bags of exhaustion. Tony's fingers caress under Peter's eyes, feeling the softer skin that graces the tender part of the younger’s face. A face that should never have to hold the burden of dark circles at the age of fifteen. 

Tony doesn’t mention the deep shades of purple and charcoal under his son’s eyes, he just circles them with a gentle finger.

Peter allows this to happen, closing his eyes with a content sigh. 

It feels as though the world around them has come to a standstill. In that moment, it’s no one else but them living on Earth. The sun didn’t shine through the curtains, the lights aren’t on, and still each party is content with laying in the complete darkness. They bask in each other’s guilt, their pain and remorse, all their regrets. It’s a pity party, essentially.

They don’t make any moves to get up, even if the overwhelming pain they share makes them feel just as worthless as ever.

Because when you accept that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be in that moment and that you have all that you need, miracles happen. Knowing this, the small family stays where they are, listening to the quiet sounds of passing cars and chirping crickets. They come from the garden on the balcony right outside Peter’s room. The small creatures live in a potted plant, happy with their tiny, miserable lives. Unlike Peter and his adoptive father. It’s quiet, and sad, and that’s the way they like it. 

So, in the complete and utter silence, when Tony’s voice finally appears, it’s like a slap in the face. 

“Mario Teguh once said that you should never make a decision when you’re upset, sad, jealous or in love.” It’s awkward and random. Peter’s eyes follow his father’s beard until he’s looking straight at the older man’s face. The boy puffs out a hot breath of air, tickling Tony’s neck. It stays silent. “I don’t think either of us are jealous. I’m in love but that won’t influence any decisions currently. We’ve been sitting in here for three days and haven’t made a decision, so, I think we should stop being sad and upset.”

There is no one wiser than Tony Stark, Peter assures himself, contemplating the man’s speech with skills he learned in his speech class.  _What about this speech makes an impact on your life and or way of thinking? Think of at least two ways the writer uses creative ways to get his/her view across. Did you learn something knew or exciting from his/her speech? If so, write about what you’ve learned in the box below._

”It’s not easy to not be sad.” Peter finally answers, shaking the questions from his head. 

“I know.” The billionaire answers. “But we smell bad.”

Peter can’t argue with logic. 

The boy nods, but doesn’t make any move to stand. His legs ache despite not being used in just under three days. He sniffs, his nose scrunching slightly at the smell of stale sweat and bad morning breath. He rolled over the silk sheets, stretching widely, wincing at the crunch of his joints cracking. He huffed, glancing at his father who was straining his back, sitting up with his feet over the edge of the bed.They sit in relative silence as Tony moves towards Peter’s in-room bathroom and begins to brush his teeth, sick of smelling morning breath for three days in a row. 

Peter doesn’t think when he says it, but out of the blue, his mouth is open and words are falling out. He realizes halfway through that the words hadn’t been sporadic, but  in reality, he had been contemplating them for a long time.

”Have you ever heard of Nodus Tollen?” Peter questions as he gazed towards the ceiling.

”Eh, no.” Tony deadpans.

”I can’t be a hero anymore. I can’t be a good person or a good son or a good human being because of Nodus Tollen.”

Tony waltzes towards the bed slowly, waiting to see if the boy makes any moves. The boy stays still, empty eyes unable to find a comfortable position on anything in the room. The older man crawls back on the bed but keeps his distance. Peter’s words grab his attention, the taste of mint still prominent in his mouth. Despite how much he hated it, he doesn’t go to spit into the sink once more. Peter had his full attention now.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense anymore. I thought I knew what arc I was following, but I keep finding myself reading pages that don’t follow the story. It’s all over the place.”

Tony ponders over this, not fully understanding if this was supposed to be a metaphor or an emotion.

”You feel... Nodus Tollen?”

”I don’t feel it but it’s like- it’s a realization, dad. It’s like looking back at all the previous pages in my story and seeing that the whole genera is different now. It’s all taken a turn with no real reason.” Peter takes a second, letting his words sink in. Thinking back, what had happened to him wasn’t even a possibility. He was Spider-Man, definitely not just some normal kid, he should continue to be a hero. Hero versus villain- that his arc. “I’m supposed to be injured by, like, bank robbers, y’know? Not-not human traffickers and rapists. It doesn’t fit.”

I feel the same way, Petey, Tony sighs in his head. 

“Are you okay?” Tony decides on a simple question, nothing to strenuous on the mind. Though, that simple enough question was the source of all Peter’s problem. But the difference between now and any other time before, was that he was going to take it head on. No more waiting. 

“Yes.”

Tony doesn’t expect that, but the determined look on Peter’s face says it all. “Are you sure? You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

Peter laughs, though his mouth doesn’t open. “No, I’m not. For once, I-I’m telling the truth. Yeah, I may not be great but I feel okay. I’m... content.”

Thank god for that, Tony thinks. Months of nothing but anxiety-ridden nights, days without a single ounce of sleep, and finally, Tony could relax. The constant feeling that his son was in pain no longer had such a weight on his mind. Peter would be okay, in the end. Tony would never stop worrying about the kid, but after so many months of Peter being the only thing on his mind, the billionaire could finally take a step back, take his hands off the wheel and just cruise.

”That’s all that matters. Now, I can smell Steve’s spaghetti from here. Let’s ditch this joint and get some grub, eh? That sounds dope.”

There it was; that glorious sound. Peter’s laughter rang out on the large room. It was ugly, the boy’s face contouring into a ragged smile as he rolled around on the bed in a fit of chuckles. “Never- never say ‘dope’ again!”

”Oh, alright. Hush your giggling, it’s giving me a headache.”

The walk to the kitchen was slow, considering both parties had a bad-case of tingling legs. Neither one complained, though they held a small conversation while walking through the otherwise quiet corridor. 

Tony’s eyes lingered on his son, taking in the way the crew-neck he was wearing hung off of him like drapes. Although, the boy didn’t look as small as he had previously, which was a win for the father. He couldn’t help the worry that slowly crawled its way into his gaze. The guilt that his pride and joy was suffering all because he was to negligent to watch Peter for five minutes. That’s all it took- five minutes for Peter to be drugged, kidnapped and reported missing. They were going to have ice cream that night. Half-Baked, Ben & Jerry’s. In four months, Peter had been taken advantage of hundreds of times. In all those months, Tony couldn’t find the one thing that brought him joy. 

He was gone in five minutes but wasn’t found for four months. 

Almost as if he just fell off the face of the earth. 

The melancholy feeling that drift through the air as the two walked slowly decimated as they overheard the conversation coming from the crowded kitchen. They approached, earning a few soft glances from the others as they sat down. A few greeted them, Steve staying silent as he plated the meal with a smile.

”Fury’s cracking down on the missing people’s cases. He’s sent out agents all over the country... so, hopefully some of those kids will be found too.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, mere keeps his head low and fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

Natasha smiles sadly, “That’s good. Maybe Clint and I will help.”

“I’m down.” Clint answers with a small smile. “Anything to help people get there kids back. I don’t want anyone feeling the way we felt when Peter went missing.” There’s a no of agreement around the table, otherwise, it’s quiet.

Steve comes around with plates, laying them on the table as steam rises from each one. It smells amazing, yet Peter can’t seem to find his appetite, despite not eating for a total of three days. Tony seems content, digging in the second the plate makes contact with the table. Observing the dining room, Peter smiles sadly. 

Clint and Natasha are arguing about something, though Peter tries to drown out their conversation. All he knows is that it has something to do with air vents and eavesdropping. Natasha’s chewing the man out, as she does so expertly, and the boy can’t help but smile as the two bicker. Seeing the two best friends quarrel suddenly sparked something within the teen. He misses Ned and Michelle. 

Thor’s gorging on garlic bread without a care in the world, and yet, behind the airheadedness and stupidity, Peter can see the god has a heart of gold. That’s probably why he was worthy to hold the hammer- Thor wasn’t an oaf, Peter learned that three nights ago. 

Peter has no idea where Wanda, Vision and Sam had run off too, but they weren’t there for dinner. He left it at that.

Bruce ate quietly, listening to Thor’s constant rambling. He was always seemed so reserved, and that’s why Peter was so surprised when the scientist told him about his childhood, about his douchebag father. Peter felt honored, really, that such a shy man felt comfortable enough to share his experience to help the boy. It was humbling to say the least.

Bucky made a joke specifically to Steve, who blushed as the amputee burst out into a fit of laughter. Steve slapped the man’s good arm, saying something about how there was a child present and those weren’t appropriate jokes. Peter couldn’t help but smile. Now he  _really_ missed his friends. 

Pepper was also missing, but Tony had mentioned something about her, Rhodes and Happy going on a  business trip earlier that week.

Tony was already on to his second helping, stuffing his face continuously. Peter could feel a small, insignificant part of him light up. That howl in his heart had been filled, if only half-way, when he realized that he was surrounded by his family, the people who loved him and would keep him safe. Peter wanted to stand up and scream at them. Not out of anger, but out of adoration and gratitude. He wanted to say thank you more than anything else.

So he did, because he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. No one could tell him ‘no’ anymore. Peter was free.

”You know, you guys are pretty cool.” Peter took a bite of the spaghetti, still getting used to such powerful flavorings and seasonings. Still, he felt a bit sick omelet swallowing the noodles. The others ignored his grimace and focused on the boy’s words instead. “I never thought I’d get out of there. I thought I’d be dead before I even reached sixteen. B-But you guys... you guys found me and I wanted to say thank you. I-I wasn’t prepared to be saved.”

The silence that followed was neither uncomfortable nor inviting. It was as if no one could think in that short moment, no one could process his words. 

The next moment, however, the odd sort of silence was broken. 

“We’d do anything for you,” Steve paused his eating, making eye contact with the younger male and cringing internally at the emptiness that resigned in those hazel eyes. The soldier glanced at Tony, who had his head down, staring at his empty plate. The guilt was practically radiating off of him. Peter could taste it, almost. “We’re just sorry we couldn’t get there earlier.”

It wasn’t your fault. It was all mine; I was stupid and negligent and too trusting. He deserved it, I still deserve it. I shouldn’t have been saved; it should have been someone else. Someone who wasn’t so idiotic and useless. I was weak, I gave up. 

Peter was done hiding. He wasn’t going to give up. Not this time. 

“I don’t deserve all you’ve done for me. You-you should have seen me when I was there. I gave up after the first month. I stopped fighting and caved in and d-did things without hassle.” Peter doesn’t wait for an answer, the words he desperately wanted to say teetering on his tongue. The teen closed his eyes, nails digging into his palm to distract him from the flashes of that slow fan, the wet bed and the door slamming. “After a month went by, I was sure no one would find me. It was like I was hidden in plain sight- it was a motel room for god’s sake! But anyways, I relied on Ray for everything; food, water, going to the bathroom, all of that stuff. Sure, he was cruel, but he wasn’t mean for no reason, I guess. If I did something bad and he got angry, than I deserved it, right? I was in the wrong. He’d let me smoke part of his cigarettes whenever and sometimes I felt good to just sit there with someone during the day. I knew I shouldn’t have been, but when he killed himself I-I felt... alone. I guess. Like the person who gave me purpose was gone and I was back to nothing. 

I didn’t want to be there, obviously. But it gave me purpose, y’know? So many people came in, most of them were just plain mean and-and cruel, but others were just sad. Some had been cheated on, some newly divorced and some just looking for a way out. I know it doesn’t justify there actions, but I can’t help but feel like the only way I’ll ever be useful is for... is for sex.”

This was supposed to be a nice, friendly, family dinner Peter reminds himself. Now he’s gone and ruined it. Peter doesn’t dare look up, afraid of the looks on the other’s faces. Why do all bad things happen at dinner?! Peter wonders with a grimace.

When Tony spoke, Peter was sure the man was in the middle of a heart attack. 

Thats what it sounded like, at least.

”That man is the only one to blame in any of this. If you did something he didn’t like, that’s his fault, not yours and he has no right to hurt you over it. You’ve done way too much good in your life to call yourself useless so stop that, you’re worth more than all of us put together. You didn’t deserve to get hurt but it happened- that doesn’t make it your fault. Sad or not, everyone who laid a finger on you is evil and a disgusting human being, if you could even call them that. Ray didn’t care about you, he was never nice. He wanted you for money and that’s that. We all love you more than life itself, Peter. Believe me when I say we can and will track down every last dirtbag that hurt you and kill them ourselves. You’re worth so much more than you think, kid. Don’t let anyone try to make you think otherwise.”

“I’m not sure-“

Clint’s inner father had been bursting at the seems the moment Peter went missing, and finally, that parental instinct was being let out. 

“Kid, Peter. You like Harry Potter, right?” Peter nodded softly, not being able to pinpoint where this was going. “Alright, good, at least we know you aren’t a freak. Now, Harry walks into Hogwarts with an expectation. Constant pressure, because- duh, he’s Harry Potter. His worth is already established. But as the movies go on, we see it isn’t all about what he was destined to do or be, it’s about what he’s learned and how he acts. He’s determined, selfless and cares about his friends and that’s when his worth takes a different turn. He’s not just ‘Harry Potter’ anymore- he’s a friend, he’s smart and he’d do anything for the people he cared about. His worth doesn’t lie in one straight path- but others. Just like you, kid. You aren’t worth or meant to be one thing. Just like Tony said, you’re worth more than you think. You are allowed to be happy, to have a family and to live your own life. You don’t need to be worthy of anything.”

His eyes are like an overflowing lake in a storm, threatening to spill the tears he so desperately needed to expel. He couldn’t mean that much to people, could he? All those night- all those dirty words whispered into his ears, dragging him down, were for not. 

Peter didn’t know what to say, so he closed his mouth into a thin limp and refused to look up.

”Clint’s right, for once,” Natasha’s voice comes to light, catching Peter off guard. He smiled as Clint makes an unappreciative noise and huffs. “To go along with this Harry Potter thing; J.K. Rowling once said that-“

”I already used a quote today, Nat! This is to cliche for me to handle.” 

“Hush, Tony. Anyways, J.K. Rowling once said that understand is the first step to acceptance,  and only with  acceptance, can there be recovery.” The spy ends with a smile, crossing over the table to take Peter’s for hand in hurt own. She squeezes, a sign that she was there, she loved him. They all did. “This wasn’t your fault, маленький паук.”

Peter’s face contorts, the tears he tried to keep back falling freely despite his protests. The boy whined, high like a sad puppy as he grips Natasha’s hand. It feels like May’s long, delicate fingers laced around his own. What would his aunt say seeing him like this? He wanted to hug her, to ask for her forgiveness and feel her warmth. But she was gone now, and he was all-

No. No, he wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by people who loved him.  

“I’m n-not sure. I-I don’t want to hu-hurt anymore.”

”Then don’t,” Steve smiles at him, gripping his hands tightly under the table. God, was he terrified for the kid. “Let go, Peter. It’s okay to cry.”

_”Stop crying, you slut!”_

_”Do you what to wake the whole building? Shut up, will you?”_

_”God, you really are pathetic. Stop crying, it’s giving me a headache.”_

_”Awe, stop his crocodile tears, baby.”_

_”I thought whore like you would like this. Why’re you crying?”_

_”Stop crying already!”_

_”Pathetic.”_

_Don't cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

Peter finally lets go. He wails, eyes blurry, head spinning as the world around him faded into a mess of colors and moist tears. He can’t tell what’s going on around him, or why he suddenly feels warmer. All he knows is that he won’t be in trouble for crying- he’s allowed to. No one can tell him no. He isn’t pathetic, not at all. He’s chocking on his tears, snot forming above his lip as a cloth comes to wipe under his nose fondly. Peter soon realizes he’s not at the table anymore as the familiar feeling of the couch comes under him. His heads being laid on something, someone warm who envelops him into a hug. Peter can’t help but cling, his sobs refusing to stop as he wets the person under him, who is holding just as tightly.

Peter forgets about the room, about all the men and women who came to see him.

He forgets about all the words they spoke to him, breaking him until he was shattered into millions of little pieces. There’s a new sound in the background, a movie, Peter realized as his cries slowly begin to quiet down. Star Wars.

Tony’s holding him, and the man is crying too, silently. Everyone is around him, comforting him and keeping him safe. Nothing can hurt him here. No one and nothing. 

Don’t give up, Peter. Don’t do it.

Minutes pass, seconds feel like hours as his vision begins to go back to normal and fatigue overtakes him. His stomach is still empty, but food is the least of his worries. Don’t give up, he reminds himself. You’ve come to far to stop. It takes a moment for the boy to find his voice, but when he does, it’s cracking and quiet. But it’s there. He’s still alive. 

“Bucky.”

The soldier seems surprised, head snapping to the boy, his expression that could only be described as terrified. Peter doesn’t smile or make eye contact, he merely stares at the screen. 

“Yeah?”

”Can you teach me how to play poker?”

Don't give up. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Not this time. You can’t give up this time. You can do it this time.

It isn’t your fault. 

“Yeah, punk, sure. Uh, why?”

Why. Why does he want to learn to play poker? Why is it so important? He’s never wanted to play the game before, he’s rarely even thought about it. Why does he want to now? He won’t play it with anyone, Ned and Mj don’t know how to play. He doesn’t even like card games that much. Why, why, why. 

“Because...”

Don’t give up now. Not now. 

“I don’t want to give up again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start off by saying... you are all amazing people. The comments you guys leave are- they literally make me cry I’m not even joking. I love you all so much. You’ve shown me more support than anyone, including my family. I don’t know any of you in real life but I feel closer to you guys than anyone else. I started this story feeling so depressed and lonely and ended it feeling better than I have in a long time, and that’s thanks to you guys and all the support. I want to thank you guys for everything- the comments, the kudos the hits. I love you all too much to explain. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this STORY please feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later! I love you all so much!- lmc <3


	18. Epilogue: All Ends Well in the Spider’s Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was it. Happiness was a mere ten meters away. He could do it, Peter knew he could.
> 
> But not without saying goodbye first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys... the end. I’m crying. 
> 
> No warnings :)

“Are you sure you can do it? We can come back tomorrow if you don’t feel up to it! Don’t feel pressured, you don’t-“

”Dad! I got this. Common, have a little faith in me.”

This was it. Round two. Midtown High School stood high and mighty in front of him, almost glowing in the morning light. The courtyard was full, just as it had been last time he attempted to go to school. The only difference between thsi time and last time was that Peter wasn’t nervous. He was ready.

Peter could see Ned and Michelle standing there, talking quietly amongst themselves- no Flash in sight.

It was now or never.

”I do have faith in you! I just... worry.”

”If anything goes wrong, I’ll call you, I promise.”

Tony’s eyes became red-rimmed as his tear ducts swelled with tears. Proud tears. Peter had gained weight, no nearly enough to look or be healthy, but enough to hold him and not feel as if you sere clutching a skeleton. The bags around his eyes lightened up, of only a tad. So much so it looked normal for any other teenager to have. The smile he gave- that beautiful grin- was nothing short of sparkling. 

He’d be okay.

”I have to go, school starts in five minutes.”

”I know,” Tony begins, but his voice cuts off as a small sobs escapes him. “Just, be careful and text me, okay?”

”Dad, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry okay?”

The older man gripped the boy for a solid ten seconds before pulling away and wiping his eyes. “I love you, Underoos. Don’t forget that.”

”I love you too. More than-“

”Apple pie as ice cream.”

Peter smiled. “You got it.”

”Bye, sweetie. Have a good day.”

”Buh, bye!”

Peter turned and exited the car, walking away as Tony’s eyes followed him all the way to his friends. The billionaire watched as his friends grinned from ear to ear and hugged the boy fiercely. He’ll be okay, the man thought to himself. He will be. 

Tony didn’t drive away until the bell rang and Peter left with one last wave. 

Even if everything wasn’t perfect, they’d be alright. They’d get back to being normal, to being happy. No one could keep Peter from being... well, Peter. They’d be back to laughing everyday and sleeping alright.

One small step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all more than apple pie and ice cream.
> 
> If you like this chapter, feel free to comment, leave kudos and save for later. Thank you for reading this story! I love you all- lmc <3
> 
> (EDIT 9/13: Hey guys! The overwhelming support on this story is beyond me! I’m so thankful for each and every one of you! I just wanted to let you guys know I have another story coming out soon, so stay tuned if you’d like to read it. It’s very sad and the ending could be seen as bitter-sweet! Thanks so much! Love you 3000!)


End file.
